Chuck Vs the CIA
by coley501
Summary: An AU storyline starting from what is essentially the beginning of the first season in which Chuck isn't quite as helpless as he is the show. Rated T for now but that might change
1. Chapter 1

Hi! This is my first story so try to be nice. Having said that, constructive criticism is happily accepted.

I hope that I don't have to do any explaining and that the story should have everything in it but I'll explain at the beginning of the next chapter if people don't know what is going on.

I do not own Chuck :(

-ooo-

Charles Carmichael grimaced as he hauled the remaining agent into the van. He may have been a fully trained operative but NSA agents were always big, heavy guys.

"Status?" the comn in his ear said.

"I have taken out the perimeter guards so getting in wont be a problem. Has our friend said anything more?" The word friend was said with an ironic, wry smile. It was the kind of smile that accompanied a joke in bad taste.

"I'm afraid not."

Carmichael was on the move now. He had locked the van and was making his way swiftly back into the hotel. Dressed as a waiter, he walked passed hotel workers without anyone batting an eyelid, making his way towards the conference room.

-ooo-

Sarah Walker rarely swore. Swearing indicated anger or surprise and either way, it meant you were not in control. Unfortunately she wasn't in control so she simply uttered the word 'shit' under her breath. She was staring at a pile of dead bodies, lying haphazardly in the back of a black van. She had spotted the black van as soon as she entered the backstreet. Everyone knew that if you wanted to appear inconspicuous you used a black van so whenever she saw one she was instantly wary of it. Her suspicions proved correct. She had picked the lock into the van and seen the NSA agents piled up. She wasted no time and she closed up the van and dashed into the hotel.

-ooo-

"Carmichael," said the voice in his ear, "what is your location?"

Charles paused briefly, wondering why he had been asked the question. He knew that they had a tracker on him and he was perfectly aware that it was accurate down to one meter.

"I'm in the eastern hallway, about ten meters from the security room. Why do you ask?"

"Somebody just opened the door to the van."

"Tell me it was the front door," Charles replied, hoping it was a carjacker and not an agent. He had stopped walking now – he didn't want to fight two NSA agents while worry about his van.

"Sorry Charles, it was the backdoor. She must have found you."

"Just what I need."

"Be careful, Sarah Walker isn't one to be trifled with."

"We can't back down now, we are so close."

"Its your call," the voice said, although it clearly didn't approve.

Carmichael walked the remaining paces to the security center, slipped in his stolen ID card and opened the door. The two guards were slow to react and Charles got off two shots before they had a chance to get theirs out of their holsters. The men were slumped in their chairs, tranquilizer darts in their necks before the door had closed.

"I'm routing the footage to you," Charles said, "get analyzing."

-ooo-

Sarah Walker moved quickly down the hall. She knew exactly where Carmichael would go; he was a methodical man and method dictated that he prevented any CCTV footage getting into the hands of the CIA. He would go to security first and then he would assassinate his target. Sarah had memorized the layout of the building on the way here and knew she was barely meters from the security room. She pulled her gun out from its holster and approached the door. She counted down under her breath and burst into the room. It was empty.

"I would keep very still, if I were you," said someone standing right behind her.

"Charles Carmichael, I presume," was Walker's icy reply.

"Hi Sarah," Charles replied. He obviously knew calling her by her first name would irritate her, "drop it." He meant the gun.

She dropped her pistol and started to turn round.

"I said to keep very still remember," said the voice.

"What? I don't get to see the face of the man who is about to kill me?" she said bitterly. Sarah didn't like losing and somehow Carmichael had beaten her.

"I know you don't know my face, I'd like to keep it that way."

"So what now?" she asked, slowing pulling out a knife from a hidden pocket in the cuff of her sleeve. Did that mean Carmichael didn't plan on killing her? She didn't wait for his reply and she spun, preparing to throw the knife at the terrorist.

There was no one there. That was the second time he had done that to her. Her eyes quickly found a mic and a speaker taped to the wall behind her. She had to admit, Sarah was impressed; he had fooled her into staying still for several minutes while he made his escape. No, he wouldn't escape now; he always finished his mission.

"You may have stalled me Charles," she spoke into the microphone, "but I'm still going to catch you."

Charles Carmichael made no reply.

-ooo-

"Tell me you've found what we're looking for because Agent Walker is going to cut you off any minute now," Carmichael said into his watch.

"Yes, it's right in the middle of the room and its hidden under a cloche."

"Oh great," Carmichael groaned. There wasn't exactly a subtle way of reaching the middle of the room.

He had reached the main doors that allowed entry into the convention room. He looked around and found what he was looking for - there was a heat sensor on the wall. He pulled a box of matches out of his pocket and lit several. He left the matches on the sensor and strode in the room, opening the double doors with a crash as he did. Everything went deadly quiet – the man on the podium stopped speaking and everyone turned to face the intruder. Several guards all started making their way towards Charles.

"You are not authorized to enter this room," one of them started as two of the five guards reached him. Charles smiled and – as if on cue – the fire alarm and the sprinklers went off. The room burst into commotion; the audience members panicked and started fleeing towards the exits. It was exactly the distraction Carmichael needed and he was already on the move. His two tranq guns were already out and he shot the two nearest guards. Several seconds later he had taken out another. Then the next one was down. It was just as he had tranqed the last NSA agent when he felt the fist connect with his face. Charles Carmichael was sent reeling by the powerful punch. He recovered swiftly and fell into a defensive stance. He was facing the NSA agent who had spoken to him, the one he had shot first. A part of Charles was impressed at the man's resistance to the drug but right now that wasn't important. The agent, a man named Casey according to his badge, lunged forward. He wasn't fast, probably due to being shot with a tranquilizer gun, but his fist was like a freight train. Charles blocked the punch with his arm but it still knocked him back. The agent came round for another punch, this time with his left hand, but Charles was ready. He dodged the attack and roundhouse kicked the agent in the head. He felt his foot connect with bone and Casey's nose cracked. Casey was knocked back by the kick, which Charles followed up with a second, more powerful kick to the chest. The agent landed on his back and didn't get up again. Charles grimaced – he much preferred knocking people out with tranquilizers than breaking their bones – and dashed over the only place the target could be. Just as he reached the small trolley, he heard a click from behind. Charles stopped.

"Wise move Carmichael," said Sarah Walker.

"Shit," Charles muttered under his breath.

"Turn around," she ordered.

He did so. If Carmichael didn't have such good control over his facial expression he would have been gaping. Sarah Walker was gorgeous. Sure, he had seen pictures of her when he read her file but those were ID photos, not exactly the best shots.

"Not what you were expecting, Agent Walker?" Charles asked as he looked at the expression on her face.

"You walked past me in the corridor."

"I won't get away with that one again will I?"

"No, since you'll be in a CIA blackspot for the rest of your life."

"Oh, come on," Charles said, sounding exasperated, "You honestly think I've done those things the file says I have done?"

"You've killed a lot of people today," Sarah retorted.

"What? No I didn't. I have knocked a lot of people unconscious with tranq guns and ruined a lot of peoples' holidays by setting off the fire alarm in their hotel but I haven't killed anyone."

Sarah Walkers eyes narrowed. Charles had deliberately mentioned the fire alarm, hoping she would spot the flaw in his plan.

"Why did you set the fire alarm off?"

"I know, right! It doesn't make any sense does it? Why would the assassin cause the target to run away?"

Sarah had a sinking feeling that Charles Carmichael was only a decoy.

"I'm not here to kill anyone, Sarah. I'm here to save people."

His eyes were pleading, asking Sarah to see the truth in his words.

"Prove it." Sarah was still suspicious of him but something about him made her want to trust him.

"There is bomb," replied Charles calmly, "I have to deactivate it."

"Where? I'll call in the bomb squad while you're taking in for questioning. If you're as innocent as you say…"

"There's no time, we have seconds left."

"Where is it?"

Charles nodded towards the trolley.

"You can deactivate it?"

"I hope so."

"Do it."

Charles turned to the trolley and pulled off the cloche.

"Oh boy!" said Charles, staring at the laptop that had just opened in front of him. The background showed a count down timer, I showed that they had 20 seconds left.

"Can you deactivate it?" Sarah asked again, panic sounding in her voice.

"I don't know," replied Charles, "I mean, I was expecting red and green wires, not a laptop screen. I haven't got a –" He stopped mid sentence "- I have an idea." He started typing.

"Mr. Bomb, meet Mr. Internet," Charles said as he pulled up the dos over-ride. The browser came up and opened a search page. It seemed to take forever for the page to load. It finally did and Charles typed in the critical words 'Irene Demova." He hit the search button and clicked on the link to the porn website. Sarah gave him an incredulous look as images of the porn star sprung up across the screen. The seconds continued to count down as nothing else happened, going from 5 to 4 and then from 4 to 3. The 3 became a 2, which became a 1.

Then the screen went blank. Nothing happened for a moment as the laptop fizzled and sparked and then the two of them let out the breaths they hadn't realized they had been holding.

"That was really close," said Charles as he stood up straight. Neither of them saw as Colonel Casey leaned over, picked up his pistol and, with a shaking up aimed at Charles Carmichael.

"No!" Sarah screamed at the last minute as she realized what was about to happen but there was nothing she could do to stop it. The bullet tore through Carmichael's chest and he collapsed to the floor, a pool of blood around his body.

-ooo-

"Chuck? Chuck? What happened? I heard a gunshot. Chuck?" said the voice in his ear, the voice of his sister, Eleanor Faye Bartowski.


	2. Chuck Vs the Hospital

**Hi everyone. Thanks for the encouraging reviews everyone posted. I had already written this chapter (and chapter 3) before uploading the first but I didn't want to bombard you with chapters. Don't expect me to be quite so speedy with the uploading in the future though.**

**I don't actually have a clear idea of where this is going long term (although I do have it planned for the next few chapters) so if anyone wants to suggest any ideas they have in the reviews then feel free - I may or may not use them.**

**Anyway, I look forward to hearing any feedback you have. Also, if anyone would like to beta for me then message me.**

**Sadly I do not own Chuck. Nor do I own Sarah Walker, which is a real shame ;)**

-ooo-

"Walker secure," Sarah said as she answered the phone.

"Graham secure," came the familiar response. The director then added, "What the hell's going on Walker?"

If Sarah was going to be honest, she wasn't sure. Things had moved very quickly after Carmichael had disarmed the bomb and then been shot.

"I'm at the hospital, sir," she explained, "Carmichael wasn't after General Stanfield. I'm not sure but I think he was there to protect him. There was a bomb and he disarmed it. That was before an NSA agent shot him"

"A bomb?" asked the director, "but it wasn't Carmichael's?"

"No sir, at least I don't think so," replied Sarah. She paused and then added, "Carmichael is smart, it may have been a trick. He could be playing us."

Sarah thought she heard the director sigh and he said, "Maybe we have misjudged Carmichael. Maybe he is one the good guys."

Then he asked "Where is he now?"

"The emergency room, he is alive but only just," replied Sarah, "as I said, he was shot by an NSA agent named Casey."

"We'll need to take him in for questioning. To find out what's really going on here."

-ooo-

"Casey secure."

"Beckman secure."

"The assassin was caught before he could kill the general, ma'am," Casey began, filling her in with the day's events, "somebody was smart enough to set off the fire alarm before he could reach him. After his attempt was foiled, he decided that he would blow the building up, no doubt waiting until after the alarm stopped and everyone re-entered the building. I haven't got a clue where the bomb came from though." John decided that he would spare his men's dignity and not tell the general about their time spent unconscious in an unmarked black van.

"He's in custody now then? I would very much like to talk to him."

"Yes Ma'am, he's in custody although you won't be able to talk to him any time soon: he's being operated on. He took a bullet wound to the left shoulder."

"No matter," the general replied, "we have him now and can afford to take our time."

-ooo-

Devon Woodcomb was not having a good day. He was on the longest shift of his life and all he wanted to do was go back home to his gorgeous girlfriend, have a shower and sleep for a week. However, fate was working against him this day. Two minutes before the end of his shift there had been a major accident on a highway intersection; injured men and women had poured into the hospital and Devon had felt obliged to stay and treat the wounded. Then, just as that had started to die down, some government agents had burst into the hospital demanding that he treated a man for a gunshot wound. Devon had been pissed off at that. The type of men that acted like they had were not the type of men that Devon got on well this. The men were pretty bruised and battered themselves but the leader, a Colonel by his ID, had demanded that he treated the man who had been shot. Devon had scrubbed up, walked into the operating room and had been in for quite a surprise.

The man lying on the hospital bed was a man Devon knew very well. The man lying on the hospital bed was Chuck Bartowski, the brother of Devon's girlfriend. Not awesome.

"What happened?" he blurted out.

"None of your business," said one of the stony faced agents lining the room, "you're his doctor, not his therapist."

Devon wanted to scream and shout at his idiot in front of him but he caught himself. No, he would save Chuck's life and then he would ask questions. Devon slipped back into his 'doctor persona' and got to work. There was a bullet to find and bleeding to stop; the next few hours would be long ones.

-ooo-

When Devon finally finished his work, he was exhausted. Patching up bullet wounds wasn't something he was used to doing and it had taken every bit of his skill to prevent his friend from dying of loss of blood. As it was, Chuck had been given a lot of blood to keep him topped up. The wound had been fairly clean but had nicked an artery. The bullet had stayed in and had plugged the hole in the artery and as soon as Devon tried to remove it he began hemorrhaging. Devon had been able to mend the wound but it had been closer than he'd have liked. Now that he was done, he needed to make a phone call. He took off his gloves and overall and deposited them in bin and left the emergency room. The lobby was chaotic, people from the highway accident were still milling around and there was a large number of agents around – one of them was arguing with an angry looking blonde woman.

"Devon, I'm having a bit of a crisis right now, so this better be important," Ellie ranted down the phone. She sounded worried and stressed.

"Um, yeah Babe, its pretty important," replied Devon, still shaken about seeing his soon to be brother in law with a nearly fatal gunshot wound, "I think I know what your crisis is about; and he's here, in the hospital."

"What?" cried Ellie, "What happened Devon? Talk to me."

"I don't know but Chuck was brought in with a gunshot wound to his left shoulder. I had to operate on him and he's stable but there are loads of NSA agents in the hospital. You don't think he was doing anything illegal do you?"

There was a pause and Ellie didn't reply but said, "Hold on, I'm on my way to the hospital. Don't go anywhere."

-ooo-

John Casey wasn't happy. The case had seemed simple, initially. There was an assassin who was trying to kill General Stanfield and Casey had to protect him. He had succeeded so far in his job but Casey wasn't so sure that the man called Charles Carmichael was an assassin. It simply didn't add up: the video footage of the hotel indicated that Carmichael hadn't brought in the bomb himself. The bomb had been large, big enough that an entire trolley had been required to conceal it and the trolley with the bomb on had been there the whole time, well before Carmichael turned up. If Carmichael had wanted to kill the general, he wouldn't have needed to enter the building at all but simply detonate the bomb while everyone was in the room. Not only was there that bizarre situation but also the matter of the fire alarm. He had originally thought that the fire alarm had been set off by an Agent attempting to foil Carmichael's plan but not only had no agent owned up to setting it off but the alarm had been set off by a match left on a heat sensor had set off the fire alarms. This was an odd move, one that timed too perfectly with Carmichael entering the room. No, the fire alarm had been set off by Carmichael to spread panic, empty the hotel, and allow him to reach the bomb and deactivate it. It was the only explanation: Carmichael was one of the good guys. This had pleased him initially and he had told General Beckman of his findings but she would have none of it. She refused point blank to listen to Casey's theory and had told him to stop wasting his time.

He paced for several minutes, trying to decide what to do. If Chuck was brought in for questioning, he would admit whatever the NSA wanted him to admit. The NSA were too good at 'interviewing' and people tended to admit to anything rather than endure more torture regardless of whether it was the truth or not. No, if Casey was going to get the truth, he would have to do it himself. The only problem was, Casey would never disobey a direct order. He decided he would take Carmichael in as ordered but no one had told him not to question him on his own first.

-ooo-

Chuck Bartowski woke with a start.

"Owww," he moaned as a shooting pain went searing through he left shoulder. Once the stars disappeared he took a look around him. He was in hospital, in a bed, and there were NSA agents on every wall of the room. Aside from his four 'guards' he was alone.

"Super," he muttered under his breath, remembering how he had got into such a problematic situation. He looked around him for anything he could use as a weapon and realized that he was tied down – all four limbs and his waist were tied down to the bed with cords; the NSA clearly hadn't wanted to take any chances.

"Hey, you," Chuck said, looking at one of the guards. The guard's eyes focused on Chuck's but other than that there was no indication that the guard had heard him, "I don't suppose you could loosen these, they're hurting the old bullet wound."

There was no response from any of the agents.

"It was worth a try," Chuck said, not really sure who he was speaking to.

He wriggled his right hand slightly, twisting against the cords. He might be able to get his right arm out, if he moved it very slowly. Chuck started whistling; it was a technique that he had discovered a few months back. Whistling, it seemed, annoyed the hell out of the type of government agents that were guarding him. There was no response immediately but then there never was. He continued, knowing that eventually the theme tune to 'The Great Escape' would get under their skin and one of them would do something stupid. As he did, he was working his right arm, trying to get himself free of his constraints, and working his left arm, trying to find the cable that connected his heart monitor to the computer. The bullet wound burnt every time he made a small movement with his left arm but he ignored the pain as his life probably depended on it.

"Shut up!" said one of the guards. Chuck had almost forgotten that he had been whistling, as he had been so intent on what he was doing with his hands. Chuck grinned at the guard with an easy smile and started the tune again.

"I said stop it."

"God damn it, stop it!"

Chuck suddenly stopped whistling and looked very serious. He turned to face the man again and said, "I'm going to find your family, I'm going to find them and make them hurt." It wasn't in Chuck's nature to threaten people, especially with their families but Chuck felt he had no other option. He quietly mused that he had been doing a lot of things recently that he didn't approve of. Strangely it had been an idea that Morgan had come up with while playing call of duty. The basic idea was to infuriate a person beyond belief and then make them very afraid and or angry. It was the ultimate goad technique; you could guarantee that it would lead to the target doing something very irrational. Right on cue, the guard crossed the room in several large steps and smashed his fist into Chuck's face. It was that moment that Chuck pulled out the cable connecting his heart monitor to the computer. The stat on the monitor flatlined and the regular beeping was replaced with a constant tone. Just to add to the effect, Chuck started doing his best impression of someone having a fit. The action put Chuck in even more pain than the motion before had but Chuck new that his life might depend on it. Within moments, a team of doctors and nurses has rushed in ready to bring him back from the edge of death. One of the three other guards was dragging the guard who had hit chuck out the door – two down, two to go.

Chuck didn't waste any time, the doctors would realize that there was nothing wrong within seconds. The bandages were being cut open with a pair of scissors – just the kind of tool chuck needed. He reached out with his now free right hand and grabbed the scissors out of the nurse's hand. The nurse, caught by surprise, relinquished them without a struggle. Chuck had cut his bonds before anyone realized what was happening. He leapt out of the bed, adrenalin blocking the pain in his shoulder, and threw the pair of scissors at one of the guards. They hit the guard in the hand as he drew his gun and he dropped it. Chuck was already seeking out his next weapon, the drip stand. He pulled the drip out of his lower arm and picked up the two-meter long metal stand. Chuck swung it like a baseball bat and the end of the stand collided with the final guard's head. He dropped like a rock. The room turned deadly quiet as the guard hit the floor; the medics were still surrounding Chuck's bed, their faces ranging from shocked to impressed.

"How many agents are out there?" Chuck asked the dumbfounded doctors.

"Loads," one of the finally managed to say. The rest were still in shock.

"In that case, I'll need your scrubs," Chuck replied. He then turned to the guard who was clutching his hand and said, "tell your friend that I wouldn't dream of hurting his family." Chuck still felt bad about the threat.

-ooo-

Sarah walker strode into the room that Carmichael was being held in. She had taken out over a dozen NSA agents to get in there and she was preparing to remove the remaining guard from active duty. Clearly, though, she wouldn't need to, as the two guards weren't in much of a shape to fight back. She walked over to the one cradling his hand. There was a large wound in the palm of his hand and it was streaming blood. She flipped out her ID and said 'CIA'.

'What happened here?" she asked the agent.

"Orders are to tell you nothing," the guard replied.

"Dammit, why can't the NSA and the CIA play nice for a change?" muttered Sarah.

"Listen buddy, you have just let a known terrorist and assassin escape from custody and I am probably the only chance of catching him before he disappears. Forget your petty orders and act in a way that'll serve your country!"

"He's dressed as a doctor in scrubs," he admitted, "he's wearing a surgical mask."

Sarah dashed out of the room and surveyed her options. She had to figure out which way he had gone; if she went the wrong way she would lose him. Carmichael would be aware that his scrubs were only a good disguise while in the hospital and would make he stand out anywhere else so he would go and find a change of clothes. She started at a run, heading further into the hospital, towards the doctor's quarters. Se wove in and out of doctors and patients, nearly bumping into a blonde doctor on the phone. She caught a snippet of conversation as she passed:

"No Babe, he's just disappeared. No one knows what happened."

Great, the whole hospital knew that Carmichael had run off. She reached the locker room and checked inside. There was no one there but one of the lockers had been obviously picked – Carmichael had been there before her.

-ooo-

"Hold it right there, Carmichael."

Chuck stopped walking. He had just walked out the door of the hospital and could taste the freedom. He was so close, too close to be stopped now – it just wouldn't be fair. Chuck turned round to face his assailant.

"Colonel Casey," Chuck said, nodding to him, "You've caught me."

The colonel's eyes narrowed and Chuck hastily explained that his name had been on his name badge in the hotel.

"Charles Carmichael, you are under arrest for attempted murder, assault, grievous bodily harm and I'm sure many other offenses."

"Not so fast Casey," said a female voice. Sarah Walker appeared from within the hospital, her gun pointing at Casey's head.

"This man is in the custody of the NSA, Walker," replied Casey, his gun still pointing at Chuck.

"But you're going to let him go," Sarah said, measuredly.

"Oh yeah, and why am I going to do that?"

"Because I'm innocent," blurted out Chuck. He didn't really know what he was going to say but he just opened his mouth and noises seemed to be coming out. Chuck wasn't entirely sure why, but he would much rather be taken in by the gorgeous blonde than the hulking ex-marine. Besides, she knew he was innocent and there was a chance he could convince her to let him go.

"I wasn't there to kill the general," Chuck pleaded, "I was there to save his life. Tell him Walker."

"Its true!" Sarah confirmed.

"I know," admitted Casey, "I went over the security footage and came to that conclusion. I can't disobey my orders but you have just given me the perfect excuse to let you go."

He placed his gun on the floor and nodded towards the open road, "I will have to come after you though, its my job."


	3. Chuck Vs the Demolitions expert

**Hi Folks, chapter 3 is done and dusted. The good news is that I now know where I'm going with the story ark.**

**As always, reviews are welcomed especially if anyone has any pointers or tips.**

**Finally, I do not own Chuck. Fortunately I do not own Jeffster either.**

-ooo-

Sarah slammed her foot onto the accelerator and the car lurched into action. There was a brief moment when the tires spun but the car remained stationary but then they were off, leaving tire marks on the tarmac and the smell of burnt rubber in the air. Carmichael grunted in pain as he was slammed back against the seat. Sarah didn't want to hurt him but if she was to get him out of there, he would have to put up with a little pain.

It wasn't until several minutes later that she was satisfied that they weren't being followed and she eased up on the fast driving. She fell into lane behind a white van and glanced over at her captive. He had a look of anguish on his face.

"Sorry about the driving," Sarah apologized, "I didn't want us being followed."

"Oh, that?" answered Chuck, putting a brave face on it, "you should see me on a motorbike." He chuckled and then winced from the pain it caused him. Sarah nearly did a double take; the man sitting in the seat next to her did not look like someone who would ride a motorbike. That said, the man sitting next to her didn't look like someone who could take out a whole task force of NSA agents, disarm a bomb and then escape from hospital with a bullet wound. The man sitting next to her did not look like he should be Charles Carmichael.

"You ride a motorbike?" she asked, "you know you're ten times more likely to die on the road if you ride a motorbike than if you drive a car."

"Says the woman whose job involves getting shot at," Chuck responded. He had learned not to laugh now but he did it with a smile. He then added, "Anyway, the crashes are normally because some idiot in a Porsche is driving like a maniac."

It took Sarah a moment to realize that he was teasing her about her very fast driving. She laughed, she couldn't help herself, but she was still wary. She couldn't forget that Charles Carmichael was a very dangerous man. He may not be the assassin the CIA had believed him to be but he was definitely dangerous. Something caught her eye in the wing mirror; a black, official looking car that had tinted windows was several cars behind her and gaining.

"Speaking of which," Sarah replied, "I may need to do some more maniacal driving now."

She accelerated again, pulling out and overtaking the van at the sort of speeds that only a sports car could obtain. The black Chevy accelerated also but not as quickly. Sarah pulled back into the lane and then onto the hard shoulder, rocketing past surprised drivers. Then they were back in the traffic and the black Chevy was nowhere to be seen. Sarah took an exit – they needed to get off the main roads.

"Uh, Sarah," Carmichael said, "I have a problem."

Sarah looked across at her captive and saw the problem. The front of his shirt had a large, dark red stain on it that was slowly growing. His bullet wound had re-opened some time during the escape.

"I suddenly feel very light headed," he added.

"Shit," Sarah answered, she really didn't want him to die especially not after all she had gone through to get him out of NSA custody, "I'll take you to a CIA hospital Charles and they'll patch you up. You'll be fine."

"What? No, you can't."

Sarah just assumed that he didn't want to be taken in for questioning so she reassured him, "we have the best doctors. And besides, the director knows you're innocent now so you'll be fine."

Carmichael was losing consciousness now, his eyelids drooping.

"No, Fulcrum will be there. Ellie can fix me up," he managed to mutter before he lost consciousness.

Sarah nearly slammed on the breaks at the mention of that word. Fulcrum. She had heard that word before. Where had she heard that word? Sarah racked her brain; she had definitely heard the word fulcrum before and it was definitely something bad – she knew that much.

-ooo-

"General Beckman, to what do I owe the pleasure?" asked a calm, and quite frankly smug, sounding Director Graham.

"You damn well know why I called you," the short, ginger haired lady practically spat, "You sent a team of agents against my own men and they kidnapped my prisoner!"

"Team of agents?" Graham said, chuckling to himself, "It was one agent."

There was a brief moment where General Beckman looked embarrassed but then her steely expression returned.

"That is irrelevant, Director. You stole my captive and I want him back."

"Well you can't have him," replied the director, "we have been pursuing Charles Carmichael for the better part of a year and now that we have him we are not going to relinquish him."

"He broke into my compound with a bomb," General Beckman reminded him.

"Among many other crimes he has committed," the Director retorted, "he must be brought to justice and we are better equipped to deal with it that the NSA is."

"Bullshit!" the general exclaimed, "besides, what do you think the defense secretary would think if I were to tell him that CIA resources are being wasted breaking fugitives out of NSA custody?"

It was a threat, clear as day. The director paused. He knew the general wasn't bluffing. Well, she probably was bluffing but she was stubborn enough to go through with it if he called her bluff.

"Fine," Director Graham conceded, "consider it an gesture of good will. You'll get Carmichael. Just promise me that everything you learn from him goes into the intersect."

"Everything we learn, whoever we learn it from goes in the intersect," Beckman replied, daring him to do otherwise, "Those are our orders remember."

"Of course," Graham replied, smiling naturally as if they were discussing the fine weather in DC. He then added, "Have you selected your intersect agents?"

"We are in the final stages of determining suitability."

Graham nodded. When he spoke of the human intersect there was a gleam in his eyes. He was looking forward to seeing what intersect agents were capable of very much.

-ooo-

Orion closed the lid of his laptop as the two officials signed off - he had been listening in on their conversation. He sighed, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He was tired – he had been running off coffee for far too long – and his eyes itched to be closed, if only for a minute. He was also worried, firstly for Chuck's safety, but also in a larger sense: he was worried about Fulcrum. He started as his secure phone rang.

He said, "Tell me you have him."

"Sorry Dad," came his daughter's reply, "he's gone. I don't know what happened but there are a lot of wounded NSA agents around."

"You think he escaped?" Orion asked, hoping to god that she would say yes. He considered it unlikely.

"No," she replied, "Devon filled me in on his wound. There is no way he could have got out on his own. Chuck's good, but not that good."

"What exactly does Devon know?" he asked, this time as Steven J. Bartowski, a concerned father. Devon didn't know what it was that Ellie, Chuck and Steven did. Ellie had really struggled with it initially but Devon had cottoned on and told that he was okay with not knowing the details after she promised him that they were doing good in the world. None of them really knew what Devon knew.

"I don't know," Ellie replied, sounding concerned, "he knows that Chuck was shot and that the NSA is involved and that Chuck has disappeared. He thinks that Chuck has been kidnapped and quite frankly I agree with him."

"Kidnapped," Steven asked, thinking more like Orion again, "by who?"

"Sarah Walker was at the hospital," Ellie stated.

There was a brief pause while Orion made some decisions and he then said, "Stay there. I'll update you when I know more."

He opened up his laptop again and hooked up several external monitors. It was time to find his son.

-ooo-

Sarah Walker paced up and down in the small space of the safe house's ground floor bedroom. Carmichael was lying on the single bed, slipping in and out of consciousness every few minutes. She stopped her pacing to peer through the window as she heard a car turn onto the road. The car was driving far too slowly to be a doctor coming to save someone's life. She started her pacing again.

"Would you mind giving that a rest?" Carmichael said from the bed, "you're making me dizzy." It was a pathetic attempt at humor and Sarah didn't laugh; he sounded too weak, and she was too worried, to laugh. She did stop pacing though. She peered through the window again.

"They'll come," Carmichael said, sounding confident despite his voice lacking strength. This was all wrong; she should be comforting him, not the other way round. And why the hell was she so worried about him anyway? This man was nothing but an assignment, she had been trying to kill him days before and now she was pacing up and down about a bullet wound in his shoulder.

Tire screeches could be heard from the room and she looked out the window again. Now that car looked like it was in a hurry; it had come racing round the corner and even drifted a little as it did. It came to a halt outside the safe house. She had to admit, it hadn't taken long for them to arrive. In fact, they had arrived suspiciously quickly. Right now though, she didn't care; a man's life hung in the balance. She threw open the door to the man and a woman who were pulling medical supplies out of the truck. The man looked at her and beckoned her over, "get the supplies out of the trunk." Normally Sarah didn't like being given orders unless it was from one of her superiors but she bit her tongue this time.

"Where is he?" asked the woman.

"Front room, on the bed."

The two doctors dashed into the room and the woman took a look at Carmichael – he had fallen unconscious again – while the man set up the equipment. Sarah had to admit that they looked like a good team. They didn't speak to each other as they worked but it was obvious that they were communicating silently. The minutes seemed to drag by as Sarah watched them work on her captive, doing only God knew what to the wound on his shoulder but finally, the swift motions slowed and they relaxed. There was blood all over their clothes. It was only now that Sarah realized that the woman looked like she might cry. How did she know Carmichael? He had immediately given her name. Had that been because she was his usual doctor in his rouge spy unit? Or was it more than that? The worry she had shown over Carmichael indicated that this was so. Were they friends? Or more, even, than that? Sarah felt a strange pang of jealousy as she thought that and immediately chastised herself for thinking that way.

"We have stabilized him," the tall, blonde man was talking to her now, "but he's lost a lot of blood and we have none to give him. He is still very vulnerable."

"If you let us take him away we can give him the proper treatment and care than he needs," the woman was speaking now.

This snapped Sarah back to reality.

"No!" she decided, "thank you for coming to save his life but I'm going to take him with me now."

The man looked somewhat confused but the woman responded firmly, "he's not yours to take away. He is a human being and as his doctor I have the final say over his treatment. He needs to come with us."

"Charles Carmichael has been accused of some serious crimes that he needs to stand trial for," Sarah responded firmly. She didn't know how much the two doctors knew but judging by the way the woman (presumably Ellie) was acting it was likely that they knew the whole story.

"Crimes that he didn't commit!" Ellie retorted, her voice raised. If Sarah had to guess, it sounded as if Ellie believed what she was saying. That didn't make it true though.

"For what its worth I agree with you," Sarah admitted, "I was lead to believe that he was an assassin but he turned out to be saving people's lives. If he is innocent then he will be cleared of the charges."

"You honestly believe that?"

"Yes, I have spoken with my superior and he believes that I am correct."

Ellie's eyes narrowed and she asked, "When did you talk to him?"

Sarah noticed that she had said him; did she know who her superior was? She replied anyway, "earlier, at the hospital."

"So if I was to play a recording of Director Graham and General Beckman talking via video link roughly half an hour ago, one that involved Graham offering Carmichael to the NSA as a gesture of 'good will', you would be surprised," replied Ellie.

Sarah's eyes widened. How would this doctor get that kind of information? Who was she working with? Regardless, Sarah wanted to see the video.

"Show me."

-ooo-

Casey should have been in a happy mood. His current assignment was one he normally enjoyed; it was like hunting deer only his quarry was smarter and better armed. This time, however, he wasn't so happy about it. Casey was a soldier first and foremost so he would follow his orders but since his time in the army he had been trained to think before shooting. His instincts were telling him that there was more to Carmichael than met the eye and that if he was arrested the truth would stay hidden. Regardless, he had his orders. He surveyed the house – it looked so normal. In fact, it looked so normal that it almost stood out because of it. It was definitely a CIA safe house. Although it might look boring, the house was anything but. The walls were bomb proof and the lock on the door involved lots of titanium bolts, the windows were bullet proof and at the slightly sign of danger, steal shutters would cover the windows making them as impenetrable as the rest of the house. It would take a nuclear warhead to blow your way into a house like that. Fortunately, while Casey enjoyed using explosives, he did have some other tactics in his arsenal. Actually, this wasn't strictly speaking true; this tactic did still involve explosives. The house had a chimney, which had been blocked off by filling it with concrete. Fortunately, the blockage was near the bottom and if you descended halfway down the chimney you were technically inside the house. The interior walls of the house weren't bomb proof and if you dropped a bomb down the chimney, you could blow your way into the house. It was quite an oversight but that was the CIA all over; lots of money spent on cool gear but with the back door left wide open. At least, that was the way that Casey saw the CIA. He put the plastic explosives in place and returned to the roof.

"I don't believe it," said an incredulous Sarah Walker, "he said that he thought Carmichael was one of the good guys!"

Ellie just looked at her, her brown eyes sad. They seemed to say, "Yes, these people lie just to get what they want."

Sarah paused for a moment and then made her decision. It was time for her to get to the bottom of this, regardless of what her orders were.

"I will let Carmichael go," she said, "but I want to know exactly what's going on."

-ooo-

Casey counted down for several seconds and then hit the detonator. There was a sudden shake and then nothing. Dust rose from the chimney and Casey started climbing down. Casey had used exactly the correct amount and type of explosive: too much and the chimney would have collapsed, too little and there wouldn't be enough of a hole. Casey was a good judge of explosives though and when he reached the point he had put the bomb he found a man-sized hole. He climbed through and surveyed the room. The hole had been blasted out of the wall of a ground floor bedroom, half way up the wall.

There were two people standing at the far side of the room looking very shocked. Judging by the look of them they were doctors – Casey would deal with them later. The blast, by the looks of things, had knocked a tall blonde woman across the room: Sarah Walker was still reeling from the blast. Finally she came to her senses and groped for her gun but it had been knocked away by the blast. Casey reached her just as she was pulling out a thin throwing knife. He kicked it out of her hand without a second thought.

There was a brief moment where they sized each other up and then Casey went for the kill. She blocked his first two punches and got one of her own in. It glanced off Casey's shoulder but barely did a thing. She followed it up with a kick that Casey caught. He twisted her leg round and she fell to the floor. She kicked him again from where she was but he blocked it his own leg and grabbed her. As he did she punched him in the face but he barely even winced. She punched him again and that time it really hurt, it felt like she had broken his nose. Casey grunted, it had only just been set after Carmichael had broken it. He lifted her off her feet and punched her in the gut. Then he punched her again for good measure. She struggled and he punched her in the stomach a third time. She stopped struggling: the fight was over.

"Where is Carmichael?" he asked.

Sarah turned to point at the bed and she coughed her surprise - the bed was empty.

"Babe, you're really going to have to explain to me what's going on," the male doctor said.

-ooo-

**And here is a spoiler in the form of a title. The next chapter is called: Chuck Vs. the Tango. Ring any bells?**


	4. Chuck Vs the Tango

**Hey. Thanks for the reviews. I've now used up the back log of chapters but I'm pretty excited about where the story is going so hopefully I won't take too long over the next few chapters. Just a quick note. The -ooo- that I used to indicate a change in scene can also indicate a change of point of view. It should be fairly obvious but I thought I better say so just in case**

-ooo-

"Charles," his Dad said. They had been working side by side on their respective computers. They were in the basement of his Dad's house, the location they used as their base of operations.

"Mm," Chuck replied, his eyes not wavering from the screen he was staring out.

"Charles," Steven Bartowski repeated. Finally, Chuck dragged his eyes from his work and looked at his Dad.

"Are you okay?" his Dad asked. It seemed like an odd question to Chuck; Chuck had been shot in the shoulder several days ago but he was 'healing remarkably quickly' according to his sister.

"Well, I'd be lying if I didn't say that the shoulder was itching," Chuck admitted with a wry smile.

"That's not what I meant," admitted Steven, "I'm worried about the pressure I've been putting you under."

Chuck sighed. He had seen this coming; this conversation happened every time Chuck got hurt and this time, the bullet had been inches away from his heart. Chuck was lucky to be alive.

"I'm fine dad," Chuck assured him, "I'm doing this because I want to. If I thought you were asking too much I would say so."

"You nearly died," his dad reminded him, "that wound is inches from your heart. If you'd…" he petered out.

"Yes, if I had been shot lower I could have died but equally, if I had been shot inches higher I wouldn't have been hit at all. We live in this fine balance; a hair's breadth away from destruction but what we do is good. Remember when you first told me about your work? How you worked for the CIA and then how you left in order to fight fulcrum? Most young men would be amazed that their dad was a secret agent but I was just worried for you safety. You asked me to trust you. So now I ask you to trust me."

"Maybe we should try and find someone else who can go into the field sometimes," Steven suggested.

Chuck didn't like the sound of being sidelined. "Who dad? Who would you pick? Ellie? Morgan?"

"Devon," came his father's reply.

Chuck just stared at his father for a second and then said, "That's not an option. If something were to happen to him then it would destroy Ellie."

"No more than if something were to happen to you," pointed out Steven.

"We are not discussing this," Chuck replied adamantly, "besides, it'll quiet down after we can destroy the intersect."

"In that case, we better get a move on. If they can make intersect agents before we destroy it, all our hard work will be for nothing and Fulcrum will win."

-ooo-

Bryce Larkin walked into the room as ordered. The room was perhaps the strangest looking room that he had ever been into; it was perfectly cube shaped and the only furniture was an outdated apple computer on a small table in the center of the room. The walls, ceiling and floor were all made of LCD screens, which were, at the moment, showing only a white background. If Bryce had been the type of man to do so, he would have been a little creeped out. As ordered, he walked over the computer in the middle of the room. As ordered, he took off his polarized sunglasses; and as ordered, he pressed the 'y' key followed by the enter key. Instantly, the white backgrounds were replaced with images; hundreds of images, all appearing for an instant and then disappearing almost immediately. Bryce wasn't sure how long he stood staring at the flashing images but it passes as mere moments for him. When they stopped, it took all his energy to simply remain upright as his head was reeling from all the information. It felt like a really bad hang over, one after a night involving absinth. He shook his head and made his way to the door.

"How do you feel Agent?" asked director Graham.

Bryce didn't respond with the words that first came into his head. Strangely, he felt lonely. For the first time since he had split up with his ex-girlfriend/ex-partner he really felt the loss.

"Like I had too much fun last night, Sir," Bryce replied.

The director laughed, satisfied, and held up an image for Bryce to look at. Immediately, Bryce's eyes focused on the image and then went completely unfocussed. His eyelids fluttered open and closed and he went completely stiff. Finally, the spasm ended and he was left gasping.

"La Ciudad is going to be at an art auction tomorrow evening!"

-ooo-

Chuck was in a deep state of concentration so didn't hear his sister speak to him. He was replacing the final piece of his tranq gun and tranq guns were enormously fiddly devices. He wasn't a particular fan of playing around with his weapons (except for nunchuks - they're just cool) but it was the one thing his always Mum nagged him about when she was around.

"Always service your weapon before going on a mission. If it fails you in the middle of a fight you're in real trouble," he could almost hear her saying it. God he wished that her undercover mission didn't keep her away so much.

"Chuck?" asked Ellie, snapping him out of his reverie, "Are you even listening to me?"

"What? Yeah. Yes, you have my utmost attention."

Chuck put his now fully constructed gun down on the work surface and faced his sister.

"Are you sure you want to go on this mission?" she asked, "Your shoulder is still pretty bad."

Chuck started to argue but she cut him off, "Your shoulder is pretty bad, you can't brush it off with some Bravado. It works on Devon but not me."

"I'll be fine," Chuck assured her, "its just an observational mission. I walk in, watch the bad guy get caught and walk out again. Maybe get a little bit of dancing in at some point, tango maybe…"

"Don't do any running, or any particular energetic dancing," his sister said, fixing him with a piercing stare.

"Stop fussing sis, I'll be fine."

"I just," she started and then stopped. She started again, "Seeing that fight between the CIA agent and the NSA agent really scared me Chuck. That NSA agent really worked up a rage. If Agent Walker hadn't lied and told him we were CIA we would have been in trouble."

"I'm really sorry that you and Devon got trapped in the middle of that," chuck said.

As he said it, his computer started beeping and an article flashed up on the screen. Chuck leaned over, about to close down the window and ignore it but the headline caught his eye.

_Malfunctioning military drone destroys compound_.

Chucks eyes darted across the page, skim reading the entire article; apparently a drone had malfunctioned and targeted an empty government building. The building had been destroyed but no one was hurt.

"If that was a malfunctioning drone then I'm Chuck Norris," he muttered. Whenever a drone 'malfunctioned', Steven J. Bartowski was normally behind it.

"Dad, what did you do?" Chuck shouted as he raced from the armory. He found his dad working on his computer in he study.

"Dad, what did you do?" Chuck repeated.

Steven sighed and took off his glasses, "I take it you read the article that just appeared on my screen."

Chuck didn't reply. He was still waiting for his explanation.

"Look Chuck, I did what I thought was necessary. I found the intersect and destroyed it."

"How many people?" Chuck asked quietly, "How many people died?"

"I don't know," was his Dad's pathetic reply.

"How could you do that Dad?" Chuck still didn't raise his voice, "One minute you're concerned about my safety and the next you're killing innocent people."

"I'm protecting innocent people, Chuck," Steven insisted.

"They had families. And friends. You may think that you're protecting people but at what cost? What are you willing to sacrifice to achieve your goals?" Chuck said, shaking with rage. How could his father do that?

"I'm going to the auction now, but don't think this conversation is over."

-ooo-

Sarah couldn't believe her eyes as she watched Charles Carmichael saunter into the room. He had a confident, almost arrogant air about him that screamed money. This was a man who was good at adopting personas. Her eyes narrowed, a horrifying possibility coming into her head. Was Charles Carmichael La Cuidad? Or could he be here to buy the plutonium? She glanced towards the bar where her new partner was working. It had been a strange turn of events that had lead to her being partnered with Casey for the mission. She had been told that it was something to do with a project called _intersect _but she had never heard of it before. Presumably, it was something to do with CIA/NSA joint operations. She was secretly pleased that she was with Casey, he didn't expert to spend time with her outside of missions, which meant she would have plenty of opportunities to sneak around and find out more about Carmichael. Casey was looking in the other direction and hadn't seen Carmichael arrive. She looked back at Carmichael and realized he was looking her way. He gave her a smile and began to slowly make his way over to her. She felt her heartbeat increase slightly as he reached the painting she was standing by.

"Good evening, Miss Walker," Carmichael said, as if he had been expecting to meet her at the auction. Annoying Bastard.

"Charles," she replied coolly, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh you know me, I just can't keep away," Charles said with a lazy smile, "the CIA sure know how to hold a party."

She looked at him quizzically; they both knew that the CIA wasn't behind the auction.

"They hire the best barkeepers," Charles explained seriously.

So, Carmichael had noticed that Casey was at the bar.

-ooo-

"You two partners now?" Chuck asked, meaning Casey.

"Yes," Sarah replied. She was looking directly into Chuck's eyes and Chuck was having a hard time tearing his away. He was supposed to be surveying the room but he was having difficulty concentrating, "He may not be my ideal partner but we do see eye to eye on a lot of things – for example bringing fugitives to justice."

The words were said with a hard edge to them, a definite threat. She still didn't look away from his eyes.

"Give me one good reason not to bring you in right now," she added.

"I'm sorry that I stood you up the other day but I have just been really busy lately," Chuck answered. It was true – she had asked to be told everything and had set up a meet but Chuck had never turned up to it. "But sending me to prison isn't the way to deal with it."

"I'll tell you everything," Chuck promised, "I was worried that the meeting point was compromised so I bailed at the last minute."

Sarah nodded imperceptibly to anyone other than Chuck and the spell was broken. She turned away and started looking around the room again, surreptitiously taking pictures with a camera located in her glasses.

"So, why are you here then Charles?" she asked, sounding conversational but acting more like an interrogator.

"I don't want that plutonium getting into the hands of terrorists any more that the CIA does," Chuck explained, sounding every bit as casual.

"So, who do you think is La Cuidad then?" Sarah asked.

That was an odd question. Did the CIA not know that MI6 were there? It could get very embarrassing very quickly if the CIA and MI6 got tangled up.

"I'm not sure," replied Chuck, "I was sort of hoping someone's outfit would scream 'bad guy' when I looked at them."

Sarah raised her eyebrows at this.

"Bad guys have to keep up with all the evil fashion trends you know. In fact, I have a subscription to 'Evil Vogue' to try and keep up with the latest bad guy trends."

"So you are a bad guy then!"

"Hoisted by my own Petard," Chuck exclaimed, trying to sound as French as possible. He repeated the word, "Petard" several times with a silly expression on his face and Sarah giggled.

"I take it the CIA had more technical methods then," Chuck said when she stopped laughing.

"Yeah, I take pictures of all the people here and the analysts back in Langley figure it all out."

"I bet they're all just sitting there in their big offices with their fashion magazines analyzing their clothes," Chuck joked and then added, "that explains the camera in the glasses." He couldn't help but show off that he had noticed the camera, he didn't get to show his spy skills off to many people and for some reason he wanted to impress Sarah Walker.

If Sarah was impressed she didn't show it. She was staring at a man who had just come out of the gentleman's toilets.

"What about him?" she asked.

Chuck laughed. That was ridiculous, the man Sarah had picked out was one of the MI6 agents that had been tracking La Cuidad. The CIA clearly had no idea that MI6 were there.

"Him?" Chuck replied, trying to put Sarah off his scent, "he might not have the best taste in fashion but he's definitely not a evil genius."

Sarah didn't say anything; she must have been listening to her earpiece.

"It's been nice talking to you Charles, I look forward to our next meeting," Sarah said as she offered him her hand. He took it and bowed his head slightly, hoping he looked like a posh, rich git rather than an imbecile. He watched as Sarah Walker headed off towards the wrong man.

"Great," Chuck said to himself, "I always get left to do all the work."

-ooo-

Casey wasn't sure why his eyes were always drawn to guns. It was true that he did very much like guns – he considered himself a gun connoisseur of sorts – but the fact that his subconscious could pick out a gun from a crowd was something that he was quite proud of. This was one of those moments where he spotted a gun that no one else would notice. It seemed that the gun was pointed directly at his new partner's back.

"Bloody CIA agents, never can look after themselves," he muttered to himself as he vaulted the bar (to the great surprise of everyone around him) and headed towards his partner. He followed them at a discreet distance as they made their way up the service stairs, clearly heading towards the roof. Casey couldn't quite put his finger on it but something wasn't quite right about the way these men were behaving but he would have put money on them not being La Cuidad. But then who were they?

"Beautiful painting no?" stated the woman standing next to Chuck. Chuck had casually sauntered over to the painting in question and started to analyze it. He had noticed that someone had come and stood next to him but he wasn't interested – it was very unlikely that La Ciudad would come and inspect the painting himself. Chuck looked over at the woman and replied, "Quite, although I don't pretend to be particularly knowledgeable about art."

"You're at the wrong kind of auction in that case," the woman observed. She was fairly good looking in a powerful kind of way but that didn't concern Chuck.

Chuck laughed and replied, "I can guarantee that over fifty percent of the people in this auction are even less knowledgeable than I am."

"Probably true," she replied, offering him her hand, "I'm Elena."

It was that moment when Chuck realized that the woman he was standing next to was La Ciudad. He couldn't quite place what it was that made him come to the conclusion but he was in no doubt.

"Charles, Charles Carmichael."

"Its nice to meet you Mr. Carmichael."

"What about you then Elena?" Chuck asked carefully, "are you knowledgeable about art or are you drawn to this painting for another reason?"

"What other reason could there be?" She asked, her voice thick with suspicion.

"Well, I know a friend who is very interested in the frames of old paintings," Chuck replied. He was finding it quite hard to keep a straight face as his opponent struggled to decide whether he was hinting at the uranium hidden in the frame or whether it was mere coincidence.

"In fact, I think its something to do with the materials in the frame," Chuck continued, pointedly adding, "Something to do with heavy metals. Would you like a dance Elena?"

Elena accepted his offer and together they walked to the dance floor.

"Do you like to Tango Mr. Carmichael?" she asked.

"Who doesn't?" he smoothly replied.

-ooo-

Casey approached the partially open door quietly yet quickly. He peered through the gap and caught a glimpse of Sarah and her captors. The three men all had their guns drawn and one of them had it pointed at Sarah's chest.

"I won't ask again. What is your name and who do you work for?"

Sarah stubbornly kept her mouth shut, defiant to the last. Casey crept a little closer and Sarah noticed him. She caught his eye and gave him the tiniest of nods. Casey didn't need any more of an excuse and kicked open the door. Sarah was moving instantly, knocking the gun away from her chest and punching the man behind her in the nose. Casey burst through the open doorway and chucked a gun into Sarah's hand. Casey shot one man in the leg and Sarah shot another in the arm. And then action stopped; everyone was pointing a gun at someone else – it was a stalemate.

"Freeze," ordered Casey, "Federal agents, don't move! Don't you move."

-ooo-

Chuck stepped out onto the dance floor, turned round and faced La Ciudad. She was right there, very close to him so he put his hand on her hip and pulled her closer. They started dancing, Chuck leading with the skill of someone far more experience at the Tango that anyone would have expected. La Ciudad followed his moves with equal ease. Chuck glanced around the room to see who was watching them dance.

"So Mr. Carmichael," Elena said, still dancing, "shall we cut through the crap?"

It was a little surprising to hear her say that, she seemed more elegant than that.

"I'm looking to buy the painting that you're looking to sell," Chuck answered as they tangoed, "its as simple as that."

"Really?" she replied, "and who are you?"

"I work for Fulcrum," lied Chuck.

La Ciudad said nothing in response to that. Then she said, "I didn't ask you whom you worked for, I asked who you are."

The question caught Chuck off guard a little.

"My name is Charles Carmichael," Chuck told her. Then it dawned on Chuck what it was that she was doing. She was testing his story while he was, in theory, distracted by the provocative dance he was taking part in. Did she not realize that compared to the beauty he had been talking to before her looks were insignificant?

"As for who I am," continued Chuck, "that is none of your business."

Chuck looked round the room again. He now had a pretty good idea about who her henchmen were now – dancing moved you round the room very quickly and the only people who had been nearby the whole time were three large, imposing men – not exactly subtle.

Finally the song ended. Chuck was getting worried, there was only so long he could stall La Ciudad for before Sarah and Casey returned to the auction from fighting with MI6 and he couldn't really ask if she wanted to have another dance. Then he noticed the blonde woman march back into the auction. He caught her eye and tried to indicate silently that the woman he was with was La Ciudad. Sarah didn't quite know what Chuck was saying but cottoned on that he had something to say. She walked over, with an angry look on her face.

Improvising, Chuck spoke to Elena, "uh oh, that's my girlfriend. I can't imagine that she took to kindly to our dance."

"Hey Sweetie," Chuck said, attempting his best groveling voice.

"Darling," said Sarah icily, running with Chuck's improvisation, "A word?"

"Excuse me," Chuck said to La Ciudad.

When they were at least several meters away, Sarah grabbed him and asked he what he had been trying to say. There was an urgency in her voice.

"That woman," explained Chuck, "She's La Ciudad."

"Are you sure?" she asked, taking a quick snap with her glasses camera.

"Very," Chuck affirmed grimly before pointing out her three henchmen. He then added, "I don't suppose you have a plan do you?"

"We just need a way of getting everyone out quickly and then we can deal with La Ciudad."

"I'll get everyone out," said Chuck, with a smile. Sarah seemed a little cautious.

"Still don't trust me?" he asked.

-ooo-

"Can you blame me?" Sarah retorted, and spoke into her watch to Casey.

"Casey, Carmichael said he will provide a distraction for us while we grab La Ciudad. He IDed her while we were on the roof and our analyst confirms it."  
>"Did you just say Carmichael?" came her partner's response.<p>

"Why is it that whenever there's trouble he's around?" growled Casey, "We should bring him in."

"Negative, La Ciudad is our objective," said Sarah. Part of her agreed with Casey but a greater part knew that the truth was being buried regarding Carmichael and only he knew the whole Story. And that was before she even thought about Fulcrum.

"What's his plan?" said Casey. Apparently he didn't need much convincing.

Sarah didn't reply as she watching in horror as Carmichael brought out his pistol. He held it in the air and fired two shots. Instantly everything went silent – he seemed to have a talent for that – as the patrons stopped talking and the string quartet stopped playing.

"I regret to inform you all that this is now the scene of an armed robbery!" shouted Carmichael; his accent now considerably less posh than it had been moments ago, "so if you would like to calmly yet swiftly move to the exits it would be greatly appreciated. Any stragglers will be shot!"

It was just the kind of motivation that the people needed and within seconds people were scrambling towards the exits. He turned to grin at Sarah, clearly pleased with himself.

Sarah heard Casey mutter "Moron," into his watch and then he swept the glasses off his serving tray and smashed it into the head of one of the henchmen. The other two henchmen were slow to react and Sarah took one out with a kick to the head and the other collapsed with one of Chuck's tranquilizers in his neck. They weren't quite quick enough though as La Ciudad had a pistol out of her clutch and was pointing it at Carmichael. They all pointed their guns back.

"I will not hesitate to blow your brains out, Mr. Carmichael," La Ciudad warned.

"I would expect no less of you," replied Charles, "but they will do the same to you."

"A stalemate," she agreed.

"Quite a pickle," Carmichael nodded.

"I don't know about you but I'm quite happy for you to blow out his brains, he's been quite a nuisance," Casey disagreed, "I consider him an acceptable loss."

"Its true actually, no one will care one bit if you kill me" Carmichael affirmed, "regardless of who you shoot, you're going to get shot too. Wouldn't you rather live?"

La Ciudad didn't move for a moment and then put her gun down.

-ooo-

**Chapter 5 isn't done yet but will probably be called 'Chuck Vs the Nemesis.'**


	5. Chuck Vs the Moral Dilemma

**Hey. ****Thanks for the reviews.**

**Sorry I lied about the name of the chapter. I don't suppose you'd believe me if I said that, in fact, the next chapter is called 'Chuck Vs the Nemesis' would you?**

-ooo-

"Mr Carmichael," Sarah said as she approached the table.

Charles stood up from the table as she approached and replied smoothly, "Miss walker. But please, call me Chuck."

Sarah nearly laughed at that. She had seen this man do things fully trained CIA operatives couldn't or wouldn't dare do and here he was, asking to be called Chuck. Chuck was the name you gave to a harmless innocent whose biggest crime was a speeding ticket. Then again, if he traded his suit for baggy jeans and a star wars T shirt, messed up his hair a bit and replaced the serious smile with a goofy grin – a grin she had seen on him several times so far – he would pass very nicely for someone called Chuck. Obviously, the name Carmichael would have to go but Sarah had to admit, he could probably look utterly ordinary.

"Alright then Chuck, I see you decided not to stand me up this time."

"I think you should know that I felt terribly guilty last time," Chuck said before adding, "You look beautiful."

Sarah blushed slightly and looked down in embarrassment. She always made sure that she looked as good as possible before going on an assignment – looks had their uses – and although this one wasn't a CIA sanctioned operation she had done the same today. Suddenly she felt very self-conscious.

"Thank you Chuck, you don't look so bad yourself."

Charles – no, Chuck – smile pleasantly at that.

"So, how does this normally work with you? Do we skirt around the topic and hint furtively that there is corruption in the CIA or do we just go for the one hit K.O. and talk about Fulcrum straight away?"

"Well, I normally skirt around the topic while flirting a little and getting the mark's guard down but you just made that very difficult."  
>"Miss Walker, are you trying to seduce me?" Chuck said, mock hurt in his voice.<p>

Was she? She had dressed in a tight purple dress and spent hours on her make up, and now she was employing her usual tactics of teasing, glancing at him, blushing… Surely that was just habit?

"With your talk of skirts and furtive hinting," replied Sarah, "I could be mistaken for thinking that you're trying to seduce me."

Was he trying to seduce her? It was hard to tell. Charles Carmichael, or Chuck, seemed to be a complex man.

"I'm pretty sure every man in the room is trying to seduce you."

What the hell did he mean by that? Sarah looked around wildly. Was everyone on his payroll?

"Whoa there Agent Walker, it was just a compliment on your looks."

"I think we should just cut straight to the chase, don't you?" Said a disgruntled Sarah.

"Fair enough," agreed Chuck, "What do you know about Fulcrum?"

"Nothing," she admitted.

"Fulcrum is a group within the CIA. They are extremists who believe that America has turned soft and is going the way of the dodo unless it toughens up. Their initial goal is to take control of the secret services and then the military. Once they have that they can manipulate who ever is in the white house. Once they have done that, they will essentially become a state funded terrorist group. They will destroy anyone or anything they see as a threat to the USA."

He then added, "The thing that makes them scary is that they're patriots, albeit misguided, overzealous patriots."

Sarah let the information wash over her, thinking it over in her head. Could there really be an insider group? What Chuck was saying made sense; Sarah had seen agents do horrible things. A life of fighting monsters could turn you into one – where once there had been a line between good and evil there was a different line: getting the job done and not getting the job done. The boundaries of morality could become blurred.

"The biggest threat was the intersect," explained Charles. This got Sarah's attention. Her partnering up with Casey had been something to do with the intersect project, "the intersect was a computer that contained all of the CIA and NSA intelligence. If fulcrum had got its hands on the intersect then it would have been game over. However, the intersect was destroyed several days ago so we are safe for that little bit longer.

"Where do you fit into all this the Chuck?" asked Sarah, deliberately not giving away that she had been somehow involved in the intersect project.

"I work for a man called Orion," Chuck explained, "he was involved with a branch of the intersect project but he found out about fulcrum and realised the danger involved. He warned the director of the CIA but he wouldn't listen so Orion left the project and ever since we have been opposing Fulcrum at every opportunity."

"Where did you learn how to…" Sarah petered off. How exactly did you ask that question? Where did you learn to be a spy?

"Now that I'm not willing to share. Not yet."

Sarah nodded. Chuck hadn't asked her about her past life – it was considered somewhat rude by many spies to do so – but had he asked she would have said the same thing. He had said 'not yet' though; what did he mean by that?

"I want to help take down Fulcrum," Sarah said.

"What?" Chuck laughed, "No proof needed? No backing up of claims?"

"I'm not naïve, Charles," explained Sarah, – "Chuck," said Chuck – "I know that you could easily provide me with false evidence if you were lying. What you can't falsify is real life. If you're tricking me into helping you commit crimes then I'll figure it out fairly quickly and then I'll shoot you in the back of the neck with a tranq gun while we're out, doing something we shouldn't."

"You're a scary lady Sarah Walker, you know that?"

"Thank you Chuck."

"It wasn't a compliment," replied Chuck, "besides, I think that we'll mostly be sharing intel unless you can get your new partner to be a little more liberal minded."

"He's not as bad as you think," said Sarah, sticking up for her partner.

"He's an ex-marine, he follows orders regardless of what he thinks of them. He's smart but his training negates the intelligence. What this means is that until we can convince his superiors we need a way of meeting to share information without raising suspicion."

"Any unusual behaviour on my part will be noticed," warned Sarah.

"I can think of way that will seem completely normal," Chuck replied, a smile playing on his lips. Had Sarah known Chuck a little better she would have recognised that smile as a smile that said, 'I have an idea and I think its brilliant. Whether you like it has no impact on whether it'll be used.'

"Sarah Walker, would you do me the honour of being my girlfriend?"

-ooo-

Sarah sat down on her bed, blow-drying her hair. Her mind wasn't really focussed on the task at hand but she wasn't going anywhere so it didn't really matter. Her mind was going over the past few hours' memories; it was a lot to take in. Not to mention that she was now dating her potentially dangerous new ally. Cover dating of course… right? He hadn't exactly been clear on that.

Sarah was brought out of her train of thought by the doorbell going. Who would be visiting her at this time of night? In fact, who would be visiting her at all? She didn't know anyone in LA. She picked up her gun off the coffee table and tucked it into her skirt. She kept one hand behind her back, on her pistol and unlocked the door with the other. She swung open the door.

"Can I come in?" asked the man standing in the doorway. Sarah hadn't moved or spoken for several seconds.

"Sure, Bryce," Sarah managed. She stepped back and Bryce strode into her hotel room as if he owned the place.

"You don't look too happy to see me," stated Bryce as he sat down on the only chair.

"I'm just surprised," Sarah replied. Well that was certainly true. She thought Bryce was on a special assignment for the director, why would he be in Burbank? Especially after the way thing had been left between the two of them.

"Sorry about appearing out of the blue but I'm actually only living round the corner."

Sarah caught her reflection in the mirror. Oh god, why hadn't she paid more attention to drying her hair?

He carried on, "we're actually going to be working together. Walker and Larkin back together again!"

"What?"

"The intersect project, your latest assignment, is inside my head."

What? The intersect? The potentially most dangerous computer in the world was in Bryce's head?

"What does that mean?" asked Sarah. Chuck hadn't said anything about the intersect being put into people.

"It means," Bryce said as he stood up again. He was really close to Sarah now.

"It means that you and I have to spend a lot of time in very close proximity." Bryce was inches away from her now. He was looking into her eyes now and she was looking right back. He leaned forward and she mirrored his action. Oh god, she'd dreamed of this moment so many times since their break up. Their lips touched and then they were in each other's arms, kissing passionately. Suddenly she pulled back.

"Sarah?"

Sarah wasn't quite sure why she stopped kissing but something wasn't right. Bryce had left her for his mission and now that he was back, he just expected things to go back to the way they were before?

"I have a boyfriend, Bryce," said Sarah. Well, it was sort of true. Or maybe completely true, she still wasn't sure.

Bryce looked down and let go of her. He nodded, "that figures. I'll just let myself out."

"What the hell?" Sarah Walker said to herself after Bryce left, "In the space of an evening, I have gone from having no one to two men, even if one of them is a just for cover."

-ooo-

"Charles, we've got a problem," said Steven Bartowski. Chuck still hadn't spoken to him since the argument regarding the use of the drone and this next conversation wouldn't help matters one bit, but it was a conversation that needed to be had.

"What is it?" asked Chuck. He didn't properly meet his father's eyes as he looked over.

"I think the intersect was downloaded into an agent before I destroyed it"

When Chuck didn't think reply his father carried on.

"I think that Agent Casey has been assigned to protect him," Steven said, "and that means Agent Walker has been too. Did she say anything to you about that?"

Chuck started off into the distance, thinking about Sarah Walker. Did she keep that from him deliberately? She had all but admitted that she didn't trust him so it wasn't that surprising but even so, it hurt.

"We need to find the human intersect and get it out of him," Chuck said as he got up, clearly about to head over to a computer to start looking for clues.

"Charles."

Chuck finally looked into his dad's eyes and saw the sadness. There was a pain hidden in his soul but also something else.

"The intersect can't be removed Chuck."

Chuck realised what it was that he had seen in his father's eyes; it was a cold edge, a hardness that shielded his heart from what he was about to do, to say to Chuck.

"No!" cried Chuck, "We can't kill him just because he has the intersect in his head."

"We have no other choice. We can't remove it from him and if we hold him captive then it'll only be a matter of time until Fulcrum finds us and captures him."

"What happened to you Dad?" demanded Chuck, "you're far to ready to sacrifice other people to achieve your goals!"

"You know who you sound like?" Chuck was shouting now, "You sound like them. You sound like Fulcrum! You're acting like Fulcrum"

His father looked down, ashamed.

"No, Chuck," said a voice behind him. Chuck spun; he hadn't heard anyone come in. It was his mum – she must have come back from her undercover mission for this very conversation. "He isn't acting like a member of fulcrum. He isn't saying this to you lightly, especially as its you that'll have to do it. Look into his eyes and tell me he's happy about it."

Chuck looked into his Dad's eyes and saw the pain there. No, Steven Bartowski took no pleasure from this.

"Look into the eyes of a Fulcrum agent as they gun down innocent civilians," said Mary, "and you will see glee."

"That's the difference between people like your father and the people who work for Fulcrum. We have to make tough decisions sometimes, ones that cost us our morality. But we never revel in them," she continued.

"And that's why we have to kill the human intersect," Chuck said slowly, a horrible realization dawning, "because if Fulcrum gets their hands on it then we will have people like that running our country."

-ooo-

The car Chuck was sitting in was thoroughly ordinary. In fact, it was so ordinary Chuck had forgotten what make it was. It was silver – the most common colour for a car in the USA – and relatively small. Despite this, it had an engine that was far too powerful for it. It was, in essence, the perfect car for tailing someone, namely a certain John Casey. Chuck was several cars behind the Crown Vic that Casey was driving and they were in a traffic jam. Tailing was one of those things that could be challenging and exciting yet could also be dulled and uninteresting. Today was one of the latter. Chuck eased the car forward a few meters and came to rest again; he itched to put the radio on but he needed to concentrate just in Casey did something unexpected. It was looking unlikely.

-ooo-

Casey parked his beautiful car in the usual spot. He got out of the vehicle and locked it. Something wasn't right. He looked around, but there was nothing there. He grunted a grunt that his co-workers would come to understand as 'grunt number 1: suspicion' and he straightened his green polo shirt before headed towards his cover day job.

-ooo-

Chuck couldn't believe his eyes. Colonel Casey worked at the _Buy More!_ Sure enough, Casey stepped out of his Crown Vic, donning the green polo shirt and beige trousers that he had seen his best friend Morgan wearing far too many times. Casey tensed and Chuck ducked behind a car as the big agent turned around. Damn, Casey was either really good or paranoid. Casey started walking again and Chuck came out from his cover and started casually moving towards the _Buy More_'s customer entrance. Casey walked in through the staff entrance at the side and Chuck hesitated. He could always go in through the staff entrance under the pretence of looking for Morgan. However, if Morgan was there he would somehow have to ditch him and still hide from Casey at the same time. It would be difficult, no doubt about it, but he had to try.

He bent down and took out his lock pick. The door was easy to pick and he snuck in, closing it behind him. Chuck knew the rough layout as Morgan often told him stories about a person called Jeffster doing crazy things back here. Chuck made his way towards the locker room, trying to figure out how long Casey would take before heading either to work in the CIA base or to work in the Buy More. Chuck reached the door to the locker room and peered through the window. Casey was the only one in there, doing something with his locker. Chuck stood there for a moment and watched as Casey placed his bag down in the locker and picked up his stack of 'Guns and Ammo' magazines, flicked through them as if looking for a particular edition, grunted as he obviously couldn't locate it and picked up his bag. He searched inside his bag, presumably for the magazine and then put the bag down. He flicked through the magazines again and grunted, as he still couldn't find it.

"Hold on a second!" exclaimed Chuck, "it's a loop. The window's actually a LCD screen. What is he doing in there that is so important no one can see it?"

Chuck put his hand on the handle and tried to open the door. It was locked. He pulled out his lock pick and bent down.

"Chuck?" It was Morgan.

"Hey Buddy," said a startled Chuck as he swiftly deposited his lock pick into his back pocket. Breaking into the buy more locker room would look really odd. "I was just looking for you, in fact."

"Well you have come to the right place Chuck, for I – Morgan Grimes – am a proud captain of Buymoria!" Morgan said, placing his fist on his Buy More badge.

"You're still getting used to the whole manager thing aren't you Morgan."

"Alright, yes I am but I'm allowed to be excited about a promotion," Morgan defended.

Chuck chuckled, "Yes Morgan, yes you are."

"Shall we…" Morgan indicated to the locker room. Chuck signalled for him to go first and Morgan opened the door – strangely it was now unlocked – and strolled into the room.

"Don't you have an office now Morgan?" asked Chuck as they entered the thankfully empty locker room.

"Yeah but its gives me the willies," explained Morgan, shaking his head in either fear or disappointment, "all lonely and silent. I feel like someone's watching me"

Considering that there was a CIA base underneath his feet, it was very likely that someone was watching him. Chuck had a quick look round the locker room. Nothing was out of the ordinary but a more thorough check was definitely needed. It would have to be done later though as Morgan was expecting Chuck to talk to him.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?" enquired the new Buy More manager.

Chuck really wished he had made a pre-conceived excuse. Thinking quickly, Chuck said the one thing that popped into his head.

"Dating advice?"

-ooo-

**I hope you enjoyed my attempt at a less action based episode. The next chapter will be back to all the guns and shooting in a really big way :D**


	6. Chuck Vs the Flashbacks

**Hey. I realise that my track record of giving you name spoilers isn't very good so I apologise.**

**My state of not owning Chuck remains unchanged.**

-ooo-

"And what happened next?" asked Sarah, laughing.

"Well, I turned round, still hanging from the ceiling, and said, 'Sorry, I forgot to knock.'"

Sarah smiled, the punch line clearly not being as funny as she was expecting it to be.

"I forgot to knock?" Chuck repeated, "You know, from Golden Eye?"

"Golden Eye?"

"Oh boy!" cried an exasperated Chuck, "James Bond? Please tell me you've heard of James Bond!"

"James Bond?" replied an incredulous Sarah, "It's a movie right? About an MI6 agent?"

Chuck fixed her with a bemused stare. They were sitting in a Chinese Restaurant, enjoying what would appear to a bystander to be their second date. The restaurant wasn't as posh as the previous one but Chuck has assured Sarah that the food would be far superior. He was right, of course – the restaurant was, after all, a Morgan reference.

"How can you not have seen any of the James Bond movies?" despaired Chuck, "they're like classic spy films."

"It sounds like taking the work home if you ask me," Sarah rebutted.

Chuck gave her another stare that just screamed 'Are you crazy?"

"Research!" exclaimed Chuck; "I get a lot of my moves from those films."

"And a lot of your lines as well, apparently."

"I come up with my own material too," Chuck said, laughing, "but it's hard to perform Kung Fu while thinking up one liners."

"You know," said Chuck after a mouthful of noodles, "I think, for our third date, we're going to have to have a James Bond marathon."  
>"How many James Bond films are there?"<p>

Twenty Two."

Sarah Baulked at that, "I should have just laughed at the joke."

"Maybe we can leave out the Timothy Dalton ones, I never really liked him. Looked too much like a bad guy."

"We should, err, talk about our mutual hobby," Sarah said quietly, after a moment of eating in silence.

"Yeah," agreed Chuck. He didn't say anything for a moment but then said, "I'm not sure that the intersect was destroyed quite as thoroughly as we thought."

"Does that have anything to do with the human intersect?" asked Sarah.

"What do you know about the human intersect?" Chuck asked quickly.

"I know that my ex partner has it in his head," explained Sarah, "and I now have to protect him, although I was never told what I was protecting him from."

"Fulcrum, you're protecting him from Fulcrum."

Chuck's heart sank. He had been hoping that the message that his father had intercepted had been false or incorrect in some way. It looked like it wasn't.

"You look worried," said Sarah.

"I am," admitted Chuck.

-ooo-

"I had a really good time with you tonight, Chuck," Sarah said with a smile. Chuck had just dropped Sarah off at her hotel – this time driving a much more exciting Tesla.

"Me too, Sarah," agreed Chuck. He smiled back at her. He was very close to her and she could smell his aftershave. He smelt really good and his closeness was almost intoxicating. Sarah honestly didn't know which one out of the two of them initiated the kiss but all of a sudden they had moved that little bit closer and their lips had met. Chuck had put his hands on her waist. It wasn't passionate like the way Bryce had kissed her – oh she was sure that Chuck could do passionate – but gentler and caring, protective. And then it was over, Chuck had moved away slightly and the look in his eyes was no longer so intense. He let her go and simply said, "goodbye Sarah." Sarah shivered. Maybe it was because the night was cold or maybe it was because of the way Chuck had said goodbye. After the kiss, the way he had said goodbye seemed so… Sarah struggled to express her feelings. It sounded so final, and the words had come from Agent Carmichael and not Chuck.

-ooo-

Chuck sat in his car, contemplating his situation. It had only been a short drive from Sarah's hotel to the Buy More so he had driven straight there. Ellie always said that there was no time like the present but Chuck doubted that she meant it in that way. He frowned as he thought of his sister, of what she would think of him for doing this. Chuck had always followed his heart and it had never led him astray. His heart knew that killing was wrong yet by killing someone he would be saving many lives. It was a battle between his heart and his head. Would his conscience survive if he chose to ignore his heart? Then there was what his mum said to him:

"_That's the difference between people like your father and the people who work for Fulcrum. We have to make tough decisions sometimes, ones that cost us our morality. But we never revel in them."_

Then another thought – a memory – came into Chuck's head.

_It was Chuck's second mission against Fulcrum. He had been a fool and had been captured. He was tied to a chair with rope and a fulcrum agent was standing over him._

"_I want to know who you work for," demanded the agent._

_Chuck kept his mouth shut. Chuck was very good at shutting out pain and knew that he could hold out against torture for hours. The blood trickling down the side of his face was testament to that. All of a sudden, there was a crash and two more fulcrum agents burst into the warehouse, dragging a woman behind them. They placed her on a chair opposite Chuck and tied her down. She whimpered as the rope was placed around her._

"_Now then," continued the agent, "whom have we got here?"_

"_Her name is Alison Wolfson," the other agent read out from what looked to be a driving licence._

"_A random woman off the street?" the first agent replied, sounding amused, "my favourite."_

_The agent turned to the table and spent a moment looking over the various macabre tools. Finally, he picked up the drill. He pressed on the trigger a few times and it whirred into action with. The woman's – Alison's – whimpering turned into shrieking that was barely muffled by the gag._

"_What's it going to be then?" he said, turning to face Chuck, "are you going to open your mouth and start spilling all your secrets or are you going to watch me drill through her kneecaps?"_

_Chuck spilt his secrets; there was no way he could have the torture of an innocent woman on his conscience. _

_When he was finally done, the Fulcrum agent turned back to Alison, pulled out his pistol and shot her in the right kneecap followed by the left._

"_What the hell?" Chuck shouted, "Why was that necessary?"_

_The agent turned back to Chuck and simply said, "I hate having a full clip of ammo in my gun, it makes it heavy." He turned to one of the guards, "If she doesn't bleed to death, kill her."_

Chuck still woke up in the night, drenched in sweat and thrashing about, after reliving the sound of her screams over and over in his dreams. Chuck's resolve hardened and he got out of his car.

-ooo-

Chuck moved swiftly through the Buy More corridors. He had already cut the power to the store, knocking out the cameras but he knew that he would only have moments until the back up generators were online. He entered the locker room and went straight over the Casey's locker. It was a combination lock, one of the mechanical ones that you had to rotate, making it impossible to pick. Fortunately, Chuck knew the exact mechanism behind the lock and therefor, knew how to abuse them. He prised off the front cover using his penknife and analysed it for a moment. Then he carefully moved the various cogs into the correct place and, with a click, the lock opened.

Chuck opened the locked and peered inside. It looked incredibly normal. In fact, it looked just like the locker the LCD screen had shown to him while he thought he was spying on Casey. Chuck felt around the edges, searching for a button or switch. There was one in an indent at the top and Chuck pressed it. The back plate slid upwards revealing a computer terminal.

"Bingo," said a satisfied Chuck. Computers were one thing that Chuck was good at. He pulled out his pocket computer – a phone sized device running linux – and ripped open the computer terminal. He clipped the device up to a free bus and began transferring files. Chuck had been working on a computer virus for the past few months. It was designed to worm its way into CIA computers and hand control over to Chuck. It stored itself in the RAM of dumb terminals meaning that when the backup systems came online they would be immediately affected too.

The file transfer completed and for a moment nothing happened. Chuck hoped desperately that it had worked – he had never had an opportunity to test it before. There was a hiss and the whole of the locker segment came away.

-ooo-

Sarah was in the shower when her phone alerted her to a security breach at Castle. She heard it immediately and quickly turned off the spray. Within moments, she was dressed and racing down the stairs towards her Porsche, her hair, still wet, tied up in a bun.

-ooo-

The two guards in the entrance corridor were surprised to see Chuck and were slow to react. Chuck swept the legs the on the left and turned to face the other. He knocked the guard's gun out the way as he fired, bullets ricocheting down the corridor. Chuck hoped to god that the walls were soundproof. He punched the guard in the face and then kneed him in the stomach. Chuck then grabbed the guard's gun and smashed it into his face before turning to the other. The guard was still on the floor and he met a similar fate to his companion.

Chuck dropped the gun and glanced at his computer. It was showing a thermal scan of the entire Castle base. It was really big. Chuck then started moving again; there were six more guards that needed to be dealt with. The next two were easier than the first, all it took was a couple of tranq darts and they were knocked unconscious. Four down, four to go.

The remaining four were sitting round a table in a large room in the centre of the complex. It looked like they were playing a card game. Chuck eased closer to the room but didn't look in. He didn't need to; all he had to do was look in on them using the surveillance cameras. He did so and watched them play for a moment, sizing them up. His father had always said that you can learn a lot from the way someone plays poker and that was just what Chuck intended to do. When he was satisfied, he put down his computer and pulled out a smoke grenade. He would rather have used a flash bang but many CIA operatives were trained to withstand the effects. They would be blind because of the smoke but so would Chuck. However, Chuck had the advantage of knowing who he was fighting.

Chuck threw the grenade into the room and it immediately started spewing smoke - the room was instantly thrown into mystery. Chuck stepped out from the corridor and let his instincts take over. The guy on the right would be the quickest to respond. He would try to find cover, most likely the table. Chuck squeezed the trigger of his tranq gun and he heard a body slump to the ground. The man with his back to him would be the second quickest to react. He would try to find a location that was free of smoke so he could see his enemy – he would climb onto the table and attempt to swing himself up onto the air duct. A second body felt to the ground at the twitch of a finger. The man facing Chuck would be the slowest to respond and wouldn't have moved by the time Chuck shot him. Another body fell. The man on the left, however, would be the most dangerous. He was the best at bluffing in poker and had appeared to occasionally do obviously stupid things, despite the fact he was winning.

This one was cunning – he would move in a random manner but in the general direction of his attacker and then deal with them in hand to hand combat while close enough to see the attacker. Chuck blocked the inevitable fist that came his way, dropping his guns. Before he had a chance to counter attack, a second punch was hurled at him. The guard was fast, he kept striking at Chuck, barely giving him enough time to respond let alone counter attack. Chuck was backing down the hallway as he defended but the guard was slowing, he couldn't maintain his flurry of attacks. Suddenly Chuck saw an opening and a quick jab hit the guard in the throat. The startled and pained guard couldn't move for a moment and Chuck got in a kick to the face. The fourth body dropped to the floor. Chuck returned to the room – now smokeless, as the facilities vents had been activated – and retrieved his guns.

He checked his computer. There was only one other person in the facility, the human intersect. Chuck put his tranq guns away and pulled out his Glock 22. It felt strangely heavy in his hand, weighed down by the metal casing and the bullets. It was brand new and shiny; it had never even fired a single shot, even in the firing range. Chuck didn't like it. Chuck moved silently towards the living quarters section of the facility, taking his time now that he had removed the guards. He turned the corner and opened the door into the apartment, pointing his gun at the intersect agent.

"Bryce?" Chuck couldn't believe his eyes. Bryce Larkin, his old best friend who he had admittedly not seen in a few years was standing in the kitchenette, boiling rice.

"Chuck?" Bryce looked just as confused as Chuck felt.

"You're the human intersect?" asked Chuck.

"You know I can't answer that question Buddy," Bryce said, measuredly, "I know we didn't part on the best of terms but pointing a gun at me isn't the way to deal with your issues."

Only Bryce would ever dare to make jokes at a time like that. It was true, Bryce had got Chuck drunk the night before an important exam and Chuck had flunked it – well he had only got 75% instead of the 100% he deserved. Since then, they hadn't got on so well and had drifted apart.

"What's going on Chuck?" Bryce asked when Chuck didn't respond.

"That's exactly what I'd like to know," said a voice behind Chuck. It was Sarah. She walked into the room slowly, her gun pointing at Chuck the whole time. Casey was there too, his gun also directed towards Chuck. Chuck glanced at Sarah, noticing that her face was hard and cold. Casey looked, well, like Casey.

"I'm sorry Bryce but I have to do this," Chuck said softly. He was asking for forgiveness, "You're too dangerous. If I can break in here then so can Fulcrum."

"I understand, you do what you've gotta do," Bryce replied.

"_Hey buddy, you okay?" Bryce said._

_It wasn't meant as a threat but more to make the four large men surround Chuck realise that he wasn't alone. One of them turned to Bryce, cocked his head slightly as if thinking, and spoke, "you stay out of this, it's none of your business."_

_He said it in a threatening tone, clearly expecting Bryce to back down._

"_You see, that's the problem," Bryce said conversationally as he walked around them, patting one of them on the shoulder as he went, "it is my business."_

_The one who had Chuck by the scruff of his neck snorted and said, "don't matter. We can still beat up two little frat boys." He raised a fist to punch Chuck._

_Bryce laughed. "Yes, you four big men can probably beat us two guys up," he admitted, "but honestly, when it goes around that it required four of you to take us two, admittedly weedy looking, 'frat boys' out you're going to look pretty pathetic."_

_The one who had Chuck shrugged and went to punch him again but the one who had spoken before talked again, with a sickly smile, "You know what, you're right. One on one, me and you, outside now."_

_Chuck gulped as he was shoved out of the backdoor by the thug. They were in an alley and Chuck saw their best option as running away as fast as they could right now._

"_You all right?" asked Bryce Chuck._

"_Yeah," Chuck confirmed, "thanks to you. Think we should run?"_

"_You can, but I'm going to stay and fight that big one," said Bryce._

"_What? Are you crazy?" replied Chuck._

"_Maybe," Bryce replied. He had a look in his eyes that Chuck and come to understand. It was a grim determination that spelled almost certain doom for anyone that opposed him._

"_I understand," said Chuck, "you do what you've gotta do."_

Chuck didn't know whether Bryce had deliberately quoted him from all those years ago but it worked. There was no way Chuck could kill him – he had been his best friend for years. Chuck clicked the safety back on and lowered his gun to the ground.


	7. Chuck Vs the Kidnappers

**Hey. As always thanks for the reviews. Unfortunately I have exams coming up (I'm in my second year of uni) so this will likely be my last one until July. I will be back though :)**

**I own neither Chuck nor his bearded friend.**

-ooo-

Chuck was sitting on the hard surface of what was supposed to be a bench; CIA cells obviously weren't designed with comfort in mind. He had been thrown in the cell after not shooting Bryce. He reflected on his decision for a moment and breathed a sigh of relief. His heart hadn't been in it from the beginning and had he gone through with it he wouldn't have been able to live with himself. He could hear Bryce and Casey arguing over his fate in the room next door. The exact words were muffled but the two were having quite a heated argument.

-ooo-

"We can't just leave him there!" argued Bryce.

"Why not?" demanded Casey, "let him rot in there."

"Don't be ridiculous Casey."

"Ridiculous?" growled the angry NSA agent, "Carmichael broke into a government facility, injuring several federal officers as he did so, and attempted to assassinate the intersect agent!"  
>"I'm right here," Bryce practically spat, "that intersect agent is me. I am a human being before I'm a computer."<p>

"The man has to stand trial for what he's done!" Casey said, ignoring Bryce's anger.

"For what?" retorted Bryce, "for breaking and entering?"

"Did you miss the bit where he tried to assassinate you?"

"But he didn't."

"Yeah," agreed Casey, "thanks to Agent Walker and I turning up and saving your arse."

Bryce turned to Sarah at mention of her name, "What do you think Sarah?"

Sarah looked at the two of them for a moment, said nothing and then stalked off. Bryce and Casey shared a look of bemusement and then went back to arguing.

"What makes you think that it was you that stopped him from shooting me?" asked Bryce.

"People are generally more compliant when you point a gun at them," came Casey's sarcastic reply, "in my experience."

Bryce was shaking his head, "he wasn't going to shoot me. I could see it in his eyes, his heart wasn't in it."

Casey snorted. "From what I've been told, Carmichael has killed a lot of people. What makes you think that you're special?" Casey had been beginning to suspect that this wasn't true but, regardless, it was a useful argument.

Bryce decided that it probably wasn't the best idea to mention that Chuck and him had attended college together.

"If he was going to kill me," explained Bryce, "he would have already have done it by the time you arrived."

Casey had no reply to that.

-ooo-

The door to Chuck's cell opened with a swish and the angry blonde agent walked in. Neither of them said anything for a moment, they just stood there sizing each other up. After all, what words can be said to make an assassination attempt sound any better?

"I was beginning to trust you," Sarah said quietly yet forcefully. Her eyes, while angry, also held sadness within them.

"I was beginning to trust you," she repeated, obviously expecting Chuck to reply.

Chuck could think of a million things to say but none of them seemed adequate. Sarah shook slightly as she said, "and then you pull something like that."

Chuck felt tired. He was emotionally drained – the conflicting emotions within him were too confusing.

"I can't believe I let myself be tricked like that," Sarah continued, getting angrier, "but you're good; you're really good, playing me like that."

Chuck looked at her and saw how much he had hurt her. She had, for the first time in years, started to trust someone who wasn't her partner. She had trusted him and then he had betrayed her.

"I'm sorry Sarah," Chuck said. He truly was sorry.

"No!" she responded, "you don't get to pity me."

She took one step closer and swung her fist. It smashed into Chuck's face and had he been standing it would have knocked him over. As it was, his head was knocked back into the wall and he was now seeing stars. Chuck just sat there, half waiting for his vision to return and half because he really didn't have the energy to do anything else.

She punched him again. "Defend yourself, damn it," she demanded.

Chuck's head really hurt but he still didn't defend himself. After all, he deserved to be hit a few times. She raised her fist again but stopped herself. She seemed to regain some composure and finally said, "why?"

"Why did I try to kill him?" asked Chuck, "or why didn't I?"

Sarah blinked. She hadn't really put much thought to the second question. He hadn't killed Bryce because she would have shot him if he had done so, right? Yet she knew that Chuck was better than that. He had outsmarted her on numerous occasions and had outfought both her and Casey too, and yet they had caught him and he had surrendered.

"Both," demanded Sarah.

"Have you ever seen someone have their kneecaps shot Sarah?" God, he sounded weary.

Sarah shook her head, she never had.

"Actually," admitted Chuck, "its not seeing it that's horrible, its hearing it. I wake up in the middle of the night, screaming because I'm reliving the sounds of having somebody have their kneecaps shot."

Sarah didn't know where he was going with it but she could tell he wasn't lying; the haunted look in Chuck's eyes could not be faked. She let him continue.

"Her name was Alison Wolfson," Chuck carried on with his chilling story, "after they realised they wouldn't torture anything out of me, they dragged this random woman off the street and threatened to shoot her in the kneecap if I didn't tell them what they wanted to know. I told them everything and then, just before the Fulcrum agent left, he shot her in the kneecaps anyway."

Sarah was horrified. Sure, she had met some nasty people while doing her job but that needless violence…

"He smiled," Chuck added, "as he did so."

"Sarah didn't say anything.

"These people are monsters, Sarah. If I, a lone agent, can break in and reach Bryce then so can Fulcrum. As for why I didn't kill him?"

Sarah didn't say anything for a moment. She just stared at Chuck.

"I know why you didn't kill him, Chuck."

Chuck looked up. He had been avoiding eye contact but now he gave in.

"I saw your gun," she explained, "it hasn't been used has it?"

Chuck shook his head.

"I kill people all the time," she admitted. She sat down next to Chuck on the bench, her shoulders slumped.

"I go on a mission and I bring a Glock 22. I have never even thought about using tranquilisers; it never even crossed my mind."

"You," she spoke, "you couldn't even kill someone despite doing so could save millions of people."

"I came very close," admitted Chuck, "if you two hadn't turned up…" He dreaded to think what might have happened.

She shook her head. "If you were going to kill him, you would have done it straight away. You don't have the hands of a murderer."

She looked at her own hands in her lap. She had long graceful fingers. In her eyes, they were long fingers in order to grip round someone's throat.

"Do you know what makes us different to them?" asked Chuck as he put his hand on top of hers, blocking hers from view. She curled her fingers around his, gripping onto him tightly. "Fulcrum agents smile as they kneecap people. You're not like that: this conversation proves otherwise."

Sarah turned to face Chuck and she met his gaze. Her eyes were sparkling with tears although none had fallen yet. Suddenly she got up and left, fleeing from the cell, closing the door behind her.

-ooo-

Sarah slid down the wall, sinking to the floor. A tear rolled down her cheek. It was a feeling that she hadn't felt in a long time. She had never suspected when she had stormed into Chuck's cell that it would be quite so an emotional roller coaster ride. His innocence should be impossible given his line of work; did he know the effect that it had on people? On her?

She heard a noise and looked up, in her state half expecting to see Chuck looking down at her. It wasn't Chuck, it was Bryce. He was looking at her with an unreadable expression on his face. It wasn't that his face was neutral; it was just that it was an expression that she had never seen on the agent's face before.

"Sarah, are you okay?" he asked.

Sarah wiped the tears away from her eyes and replied, "yeah fine." She found herself slipping out of the Sarah Walker persona back into her agent persona. She got up, "just shaken up that's all."

"Its okay to cry," said a surprisingly sympathetic Bryce, "even us tough agents need to let out our emotions sometimes."

He pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her.

"Its okay, its okay," he whispered in her ear and she melting into him.

-ooo-

Chuck wasn't happy with his lighting arrangement. It wasn't that he didn't like green but emergency lighting simply made him nervous. It had turned on roughly a minute ago as the normal lighting had switched off. He briefly considered the possibility that his virus had a glitch causing the base to switch to emergency power but Chuck had written the virus with the utmost care. No, someone had cut the power to the base although who had done it and why were not known. Chuck could, however, make a good guess. Unfortunately the cell doors were one of the few things that worked under emergency power and Chuck was still trapped.

Or he would have been had he not been a forward thinker. Chuck's computer was on the table in the mission briefing room adjacent to the cellblock and was still in control of the base. While writing the computer program that controlled the base he had come to the conclusion that in some situations he might not be able to control the computer directly and had designed an alternative system for controlling the base.

He had designed a large number of simple commands that could be recognised in multiple formats. These formats included all the known languages, transmitted radio waves and Morse code including others. It was the Morse code that interested Chuck at the moment. The walls and doors were designed to be sound (and bomb and bullet) proof but the air ducts that traversed the entire base and could probably transmit sound quite well.

Chuck climbed up onto the bench and began tapping out the code. It took several tries but eventually the computer came to life and several seconds later he was free. He entered the now eerily quiet briefing room and retrieved his computer and tranq guns. He checked the computer but all of the base's systems were offline. That silence had been comforting before but now it was disconcerting. God, Chuck hated not being in control of a situation.

Chuck wasn't sure of where to go but he knew that heading upwards was probably a good idea. The level above had been where Bryce was staying and if Fulcrum had come for him then that is where they would be. He raced towards the stairs and began climbing. As he neared the next level the shooting started. It was taking place somewhere on the habitation level, right where Bryce would be. Chuck opened the door forcefully and presented the muzzle of his gun to anyone that might be in the corridor. It was empty.

Chuck continued carefully, aware that if he were to rush he would end up doing something foolish. He reached the end of the corridor and rounded the corner. He shot the two fulcrum agents before he had even registered that they were there. They had had their backs to him and looked like they had been involved in a shoot out. Chuck approached the agents and checked out their credentials. They had no ID and quite frankly didn't look like CIA agents. While Chuck realised that agents that looked like agents would make terrible ones the more logical explanation was that they were mercenaries.

Chuck looked through the open doorway into the mess that was the habitation segment. The segment had originally be set up to look like a large modern apartment but now it had been turned into a battle zone. Tables had been turned up and sofas moved to provide cover (yes, CIA sofas are bullet proof) for the lone NSA agent fighting more mercenaries. John Casey was ducked behind a metal table, taking sustained fire, itching for an opportunity to use the shotgun he was wielding. Chuck knew that he had a momentary advantage against the mercenaries due to his sudden appearance and utilized it as well as he knew how.

He emptied his guns of tranquilizers and watched as several mercenaries fell. Chuck didn't waste any time hanging around though. He quickly dived behind what he hoped was a steel reinforced sofa before the remaining mercenaries could return fire. Chuck had provided just the distraction that Casey needed as the mercenaries struggled to reposition themselves to provide cover against both the NSA agent and the newcomer.

Casey came out from behind the table and fired his shotgun. The mercenary nearest him was sent flying by the force of the shot – nothing could beat a shotgun in such a closed environment. Casey quickly dispatched another mercenary as they all dove for cover. They started to return fire and Casey ducked back behind the table. Now it was Chuck's turn: while Casey had been shooting them, Chuck had been reloading his pistols. Now, in the mercenaries' haste to avoid getting shot at by Casey, they had revealed themselves to Chuck. Needless to say, it only took a few minutes for Casey and Chuck to dispatch the remaining mercenaries.

"Carmichael!" Casey growled, pointing his shotgun at Chuck, as the remaining mercenary fell to the floor, a tranquilizer dart in his neck.

Chuck pointed his tranq gun back at Casey.

"You know what the problem with tranq guns is?" Chuck asked with a smile, "they suck at standoffs."

Chuck holstered his guns.

"I take it they have Larkin." No need to admit that he knew him yet. "Like it or not, we need to work together if we're going to get him back before they bug out."

"Who are they?"

"Fulcrum."

Casey grunted and lowered his shotgun. Chuck didn't know what the grunt meant but this wasn't the time to be taking foreign language lessons.

"Roof," said Casey, "they came in on a helicopter so I'll bet that's how they're getting out."

"Where's Sarah? Asked Chuck.

"She slipped past the mercs and was pursuing the rogue agents."

Together they raced out of the habitation suite towards the stairwell.

-ooo-

Casey kicked open the door and raced onto the roof. He felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins and for the first time in a long time truly felt alive. The fight in the apartment had been exhilarating. Carmichael was obviously a master at using distraction and the way he and Casey had systematically defeated the mercenaries by forcing them into vulnerable positions gave Casey a buzz.

He could hear the throb of a chopper and he hoped he wasn't too late. The sound was gradually getting higher pitched – the helicopter was taking off. He rushed on the roof and opened fire on it but he knew it was fruitless. His shotgun would do nothing against the armoured casing on the helicopter. Carmichael followed Casey onto the roof but didn't open fire. Darts would be even less useful against the metal. They both stared at the helicopter for a moment as it disappeared into the cloud cover.

Casey looked over a Carmichael and saw that he had a worried expression on his face. He suddenly looked much older than Casey would have thought possible and Casey realised that those eyes had seen more horror than a man twice his age ever should have to witness. Casey then realised how it was that a man who always used tranquilizer guns could attempt to assassinate someone – unlike Casey and Sarah, Carmichael had truly understood the consequences. Casey wanted to say something to Carmichael, explain that he understood, but he didn't have the words to express himself.

-ooo-

Chuck collected his thoughts and forced himself into action again. He looked around the roof and spotted Sarah. She was lying on the ground and Chuck, for a horrible moment, thought she was dead. He rushed over and knelt by her side. There were a large number of bullet holes in her blouse but the vest underneath had protected her from being ripped to shreds. It looked like someone had emptied a chain gun into her chest.

"Sarah," pleaded Chuck, "Can you hear me?"

Sarah moaned – she likely had a number of broken ribs – and turned to look at him.

"You were right, Chuck," she groaned, "Fulcrum has taken Bryce."

End of Part 1


	8. Chuck Vs the Small Truths

**Hey. Sorry I took so long getting this out. I had exams and then writers block (not a good combo) but its out now :)**

**As always, please review. Any constructive criticism is appreciated (even if its repeated criticism, I may have forgotten it as its been a while)**

**I do not own Chuck**

-ooo-

The sounds of the water lapping against the sand couldn't be heard from the house but to the patrolling guards it was their only companion. Lighting built into the rocks higher up the beach barely impacted the inky blackness as the sea seemed to swallow up the light. During the daytime, the beach would be pretty and serene but at night it was oppressive and threatening. At that precise moment there were three guards patrolling the waterfront and none of them saw as three figures rose up out of the water. The three figures, all wearing dark wetsuits, would have been a terrifying site to be behold as they attacked the guards. All used different techniques but were equally efficient in their task.

The largest of the three – his dark silhouette bear-like against the silver light of the moon – simply grabbed his target by the throat, lifted him into the air, and knocked the guard out in a single blow the head. The smallest, a woman, came out of the water straight into a roundhouse kick. A second kick, this one a front kick from her left leg, was all that was needed - he was unconscious before he hit the floor. If the first person had been a bear, then the woman was a wolf. The third person was obviously a man, but a tall thin one unlike the bear. He was slower than the woman but much quieter and something about the way he moved was like quicksilver – he was a spitting cobra. The guard had been facing sea but somehow the attacker had slipped behind him. The Cobra pulled the guard backwards with an arm against his windpipe. There was a brief struggle as the guard flailed his arms wildly but then his body went limp and the Cobra laid his body down on the sand, away from the water.

"That's cold Carmichael," noted John Casey, "asphyxiation isn't a fun way to go."

"He's just knocked out," Chuck replied as he retrieved the mission backpack from the shore, "aside from a bit of bruising on his neck he'll be fine."

Casey grunted.

"We can discus the merits behind the various techniques when we're back in castle," reminded Sarah, whose head, as usual, was in the game.

The three of them stripped off their wetsuits and put on uniform that looked like the uniform the guards were wearing. Casey was the only one who could really pull off looking like a guard though. They made their way up the path towards the complex. They walked swiftly without hurrying with Casey several meters ahead to distract any guards they come across. The ploy worked effectively as the only two guards they came across were taken care of by one of Casey's fists.

-ooo-

"Alright, remember the plan?" asked Chuck. They were crouched down behind a rose bush in the garden. The grounds of the complex were well guarded with patrols that were much more regular than the ones on the beach and infrared cameras observing every inch of the grounds. While the guards were dangerous, it was the cameras that were the most problematic but, fortunately, Chuck had a plan.

"You sure this'll work?" asked a sceptical Sarah.

"Yes," assured Chuck, "the infrared laser will blind the camera. It's the equivalent of shining a light into someone's eyes. Fortunately for us, the camera's software doesn't measure the absolute levels of infrared but only detects variation. The people watching the cameras won't see a thing."  
>Sarah nodded uncertainly; Chuck seemed to be betting a lot on his knowledge of the cameras being used. Regardless, Chuck had been given this operation as a measure of goodwill from the Director and it was ultimately his decision. She pulled out the laser, switched it on and pointed it at the camera.<p>

A pair of guards trudged past and Chuck waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps before dashing out into the open. Normally, he would say that when on a mission you should take your time but in certain missions that was a luxury you couldn't afford. This was one of those missions. His path took him right across the stepping-stones over the pool and he shivered. A combination between the sensible fear that he would slip on the wet stone and the irrational fear that there would be a shark in the water made Chuck tense. He had been watching too many films with Morgan lately.

He reached the far wall without succumbing to either carnivorous fish or any unwanted swimming but didn't pause, even for a second. As he began to scale the wall he hoped that Sarah had switched cameras and was now blinding the one that was focused on the balcony. He was past halfway up the wall when he heard footsteps. He froze, trying to gauge where they were coming from. Where they on the path below him? Should he scramble up the final few meters? Or were they on the balcony and would scrambling up lead him straight into their clutches? The footsteps were getting louder and Chuck still didn't know where they were. There was nothing for it, he would just have to stay there and hope he wasn't seen. The footsteps grew even louder and Chuck realised that they were below him. He should have carried on up. He held his breath and pulled himself as close to the wall as he could, hoping that he wouldn't be spotted.

The footsteps stopped getting louder and grew quiet – they had passed on by. Chuck climbed the rest of the way swiftly, not wanting a repeat of that experience. He swung up onto the balcony. No alarms went off and no guards came rushing out of the building. That was definitely a good sign. The next bit of the mission required nothing more than a good walk. He would simply walk into the security office and take control of it but in order to get there he would have to walk down a corridor in full view of the camera. He couldn't take out the camera without alerting suspicion and there was no way of looping the feed so he would need to make it nearly 20 meters in plain view of the guards without arousing suspicion.

All this required, Chuck had assured his new team, was a good walk. If you look like you're supposed to be there no one will suspect a thing. This was especially true if someone was only looking with his or her peripheral vision. As there were a lot of cameras to monitor, this was likely to be happening. Chuck relaxed, swiped his stolen ID card and strolled into the building.

-ooo-

"I cannot believe that worked," Casey admitted, shaking his head with disbelief.

"You clearly don't have enough faith in my strolling abilities," Chuck replied, grinning.

Casey snorted, "I don't suppose you can stroll into the vault and take the diamond could you?"

"And deny you the use of the explosives? I think not."

"That glass is bomb proof," said Sarah, "how are you planning on getting through it?"

"Have you ever heard of the Darwin awards?" asked Chuck. Sarah shook her head and Casey just looked bemused.

"Well, they are these awards for people who die in stupid or funny ways – Casey would love it – and there is one particular award given to a man who works on the 37th floor of a building. He regularly demonstrates the strength of the glass by running into it as hard as he can."

"Is there a point to this?" asked Casey.

"Yes," Chuck replied, "one day he does the same thing but he ends up plummeting to his death."

"The repeated stress on the window caused it to weaken?" Sarah said, trying to explain how it had occurred.

"No," explained Chuck, "the window didn't break, it was the frame that gave way."

"The glass may be bomb proof, but the frame can broken," confirmed Casey.

"Specifically the hinges on the door," Chuck said, tossing a lump of plastic explosive to Casey, "enjoy."

Casey placed the charges on the hinges, stuck the detonator into the plastic and the three of them hid round the corner in the corridor. There was a loud explosion followed by a crash. The door had fallen inwards. The three of them quickly enter the vault. Casey puts on a rubber glove and then picks up the diamond from its pulpit. There was no sudden spark of electricity as the glove completely insulated Casey's arm.

"That's odd," said Casey.

"What?" asked Chuck, suddenly alert for any threats.

"Its too light."

He passed it to Sarah and she pulled out one of her knives. She held the diamond up and scraped it across the diamond. It left a long, jagged scratch.

"Its glass," Sarah agreed, "you can't scratch a diamond with a metal knife."

"So where's the real diamond?" asked Chuck.

-ooo-

Casey was in a dark mood. He hadn't said anything for the entire boat journey back and had glowered at Chuck any time he had spoken. Chuck seemed grim but he had a determination in his eyes. His mind was already working on finding the real diamond. Sarah, as usual, was a closed book. Her face was impassive and unreadable.

"I think I will stay here for a while," Chuck said to the other two.

They were on the beach where they had parked their get away cars. They didn't need to leave quickly so the mission was over. Debriefing wouldn't be necessary as only one word needed to be said: 'fake.' Casey didn't respond as he climbed into his 'Crown Vic'. He revved the engine and left quickly. Sarah nearly went to her car but paused. She turned to face Chuck. He was sitting in the sand, facing the other direction and looking out towards the sea. She walked slowly over to Chuck, treading softly on the cool sand.

"You know," Chuck said as she approached, "I thought you would leave. This is my thinking spot and you strike me more of a doer."

He looked up at her and smiled that innocent smile of his.

"Watching the sunset," Sarah said after a moment, "would make a very good third date."

Chuck's grin broadened and even Sarah allowed herself a little smile.

"Well, in that case…" he replied and patted the sand next to him.

Sarah settled down on the sand next to Chuck. She desperately wanted to lean against him and have him put his arm around her shoulders. God, she was tired of being in the CIA.

"I think the diamond was stolen," Chuck admitted.

Sarah didn't want to talk about the mission. Failed missions were a sore point but that wasn't the real reason. She just wanted, for a moment, not to be Agent Walker but to be Sarah. She wanted to be sitting on the sand, waiting for the sun to rise, with her boyfriend, not her partner.

"Not a decoy then?"

"No," agreed Chuck, "it was a poor fake. It was a fake made by someone who didn't know much about the real diamond."

Sarah knew that there were other potential explanations but it seemed Chuck had pretty good intuition so she let it pass.

"Fulcrum."

It could have been a statement or a question. Chances were that Fulcrum had taken the diamond. Why would Fulcrum take it though? What did they want with Afghani terrorists?

"What are they up to?"

Neither of them wanted to mention Bryce or the intersect but they were both thinking about him.

"We're going to rescue him," Chuck said defiantly. He knew what was on her mind.

Sarah looked at Chuck and saw the look in his eye. If anyone could rescue Bryce, it would be Chuck. Sarah tried to look brave but for the first time in a long time she wasn't feeling brave. She felt vulnerable.

"You said that this is your thinking spot," Sarah changed the subject.

"Yeah, I come here when I need to clear my mind," admitted Chuck, "I like to watch the sun rise over the waves. The water truly sparkles; it's beautiful."

"Thank you," Sarah said quietly, "thank you for telling me something about yourself."

Chuck smiled at her sadly. It broke Sarah's heart to see the sadness but she had always known that it would be there. It was the sadness that all agents shared – the sadness of secrets.

"How about a trade," Chuck offered, "a piece of information for a piece of information."

Sarah felt the butterflies in her stomach unfold their wings. She desperately wanted to find out more about Chuck but she also wanted to tell him everything about herself.

Sarah nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

"I don't mean names and places you grew up," Chuck added, "I can find those out from a file. I want to know your likes and dislikes, your pet hates and your bad habits."

"You first," asked Sarah.

"I love the film Tron," admitted Chuck. He then added, "I mean the original one. My dad took me to see it at this really old cinema and I hated it. I pretended to love it because my dad clearly did but gradually, over the years, I grew to like it. Now I love it."

Sarah added the little piece of information to her growing jigsaw puzzle that was Chuck.

"You're turn."

"I used to play the violin when I was at school," Sarah said slowly. It was hard for her to get the words out – she was so used to keeping her real life a secret. She then carried on, "I still play it sometimes when I think that no one is watching or listening. I sound awful."

"I bet you don't," Chuck replied chivalrously.

"I'd reserve judgment if I were you."

She laughed. It seemed like that was all Sarah was getting for now. She vowed to ask for more another time.

Suddenly a slither of light peaked over the horizon and shone out across the water. The sun was rising and Chuck had been right, it looked truly beautiful.

**Author's note: Interestingly, in the episode 'Vs the Wookie' which this is based on, Carina has the line 'lets go for a stroll'.**


	9. Chuck Vs the Genius

**Hey. Thanks for the reviews, keep them coming :)**

**Sadly, I do not own Chuck**

"I just don't get it," moaned Chuck. He had been staring at the godforsaken computer screen for what seemed like weeks. It mustn't have been more than a few hours but Chuck felt like he had been going round in circles for much longer.

"There is nothing that links Fulcrum to the terrorist cell!" cried Chuck.

"Could Fulcrum want the diamond for a different reason?" asked Ellie.

Chuck glanced over at his sister. She, too, was sitting in front of a computer and was also looking like she was lacking in sleep. She had multiple monitors up to her computer. One of them was showing the recording of a brain scan and the other was covered with lines of intersect code.

"Maybe their leader was planning on proposing," suggested Chuck half-heartedly.

"Not likely," replied their dad. He must have been too tired and cranky to get the joke, "my money would be on the terrorist group."

"That's just the problem," admitted Chuck, "there has been no unusual activity from them lately."

"Its possible that the spy drone logs have been tampered with," said Ellie.

Fulcrum was perfectly capable of doing that.

"I'll cross reference these drone logs with older ones," Chuck replied, "If they've tampered with them they will most likely have used the video feeds from several months or years ago. If there is an identical match between these logs and an older one then we'll know that Fulcrum is involved with the terrorists."

If they had simply copied the video logs directly it would be easy to find – Chuck already had several search programs that could do that very quickly – but it would be more difficult if they modified them somewhat. It was still doable and Chuck did have a program that could search the CIA database for similar files but it was less accurate and a lot slower.

Chuck set his various programs running and leaned back in his chair. There would be no results for a few hours at least and considered trying to get some sleep.

"How's it going sis?" he asked as he stood up.

Ellie turned to face him and sighed.

"Its not looking good," she admitted, "we don't know enough about the intersect's raw data."

Chuck's sister and father were working on a plan to remotely remove the intersect from Bryce. In theory they could place a block program into the intersect but in practice it had never been done before and without a test subject it was not looking likely.

"There must be plenty of coding that you put in yourself Dad, can you not use that?" asked Chuck.

"The coding that I wrote is only part of the bigger picture," replied Steven.

"What about false data," Chuck asked. He had been developing a theory for a while but this was the first time he had mentioned it.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, when you upload the intersect, it's a combination of the data and the structural subroutines. Without the subroutines the data is worthless which means we can broadcast the data using the television networks without affecting the general population. We simply encode false data into a news channel and when Bryce watches the TV – we all agree that fulcrum will have him watching the news to see if he flashes – he will absorb it as he already has the structural subroutines. Then we can set a trap for fulcrum using the false data."

"The idea has merit," agreed Steven.

"And encoding the data would be relatively simple," added Ellie, "although we'll have to encode it in a way that allows Bryce to receive the information without Fulcrum realizing what we're up to.

"And if the worst comes to the worst and Fulcrum realizes that we have tainted their source of information then they will no longer trust Bryce's intelligence and its still a victory."

Chuck's phone buzzed and he glanced down at it.

"I have to go," said Chuck, "I have a meeting at Castle."

Steven sighed. He looked like he was going to object.

"Dad, I know you don't like me working with the CIA and the NSA but if we're going to stand against Fulcrum we need allies."

"I still don't trust them."

"They have done nothing but save lives and defend their country," countered Chuck, "which is more than I can say for you."

The attack hit home and Steven relented. They had had that conversation far too many times. Steven was ruthless, uncompassionate and immoral and Chuck was naïve and a fool. Neither of them ever backed down. They still operated efficiently as a team but there was love lost between the father and son.

"Chuck, go," ordered Ellie, "Dad, computer."

-ooo-

"Was that a flash I saw?" asked the menacing figure.

"Just an itch," replied Bryce.

"Or really? Would you like me to scratch it?"

"You could just untie me and I could get it myself," Bryce suggested with a wry laugh.

"But what kind of host would I be if I made you do it yourself?" the man asked, wide eyed with feigned innocence.

He punched Bryce in the gut. He was wearing knuckle-dusters. Bryce would have doubled up in pain had he not been strung up to the wall with metal chains. Held up by his arms, his shoulders had been dislocated several times. Each time they had let him down and pushed his shoulders back into position only for him to be put back up on the wall and, eventually, have his shoulders dislocated.

Bryce coughed and felt the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

"Sorry I didn't quite catch that," cackled the Fulcrum agent. He slammed his fist into Bryce's stomach again and this time Bryce didn't choke – he wasn't able. He hung there for a minute, trying to breath. For some reason his lungs didn't want to obey him.

"Are you ready to tell us what you saw?"

"Go to hell."

Another punch, this time in the face. Bryce heard a crunch as his nose crumpled under the pressure. He scream this time – his nose was already broken and simple touching it would have hurt. Bryce writhed in agony as he tried to block out the pain and the suddenly his shoulders gave way. The left one went first. It made a horrible popping sound as his bones separated. The right shoulder dislocated moments later. Bryce could feel the strain that his weight was putting on his tendons and ligaments. If he was left there they would eventually snap.

"Tell me everything and I'll let you down," the guard said.

Bryce nodded and began to spill everything he knew.

-ooo-

Chuck rode the elevator down to the depths of Castle. He had been there a number of times since he had started working with the government but the resources and planning behind the operation still impressed Chuck. The elevator door slid open smoothly and Chuck entered the main base. The previous times he had been there, the base had been a hive of activity but now it was eerily quiet. No one but Sarah and Casey were there. They were sitting with their backs to him but he was sure that they knew he was there. They were, after all, spies. Chuck approached them and he realized that they were facing a large screen.

"Good, Carmichael has arrived," said the familiar face on the screen.

"General," Chuck said, nodding at her. He glanced over at Casey and Sarah. Neither of them had said anything. They were agents today, not people. Casey had a nonchalant look about him as if there was nothing more relaxing than getting orders from his superiors. He was sitting straight and was alert but it was like he was wearing clothes that fit him well and he had been wearing long enough to mold to his form. Sarah, on the other hand, was more rigid. She looked stern and formal. Was Sarah always like that when faced with General Beckman or was something else going on? It irked Chuck that she hadn't acknowledged his presence.

"As I was saying," Beckman interrupted Chuck's thoughts, "Lazslo Mahnovski has gone missing and we need to find him."

"Who exactly is Lazslo Mahnovski?" asked Chuck. He glanced at the other two. They seemed to have heard of the name.

"He built my watch," explained Casey, "and my car. And most of my guns."

"He's Q," Chuck replied, showing that he understood.

The other three all looked bemused.

"You three need to get out more," muttered Chuck. He glanced at Sarah. She quickly looked away. Had she been staring at him?

"We're worried that Fulcrum is going to get their hands on him and force him to build them weapons. We cannot let that happen."

"I'm sending you his file as he is most likely in LA and you're the only team we can trust in the area. Find him and bring him in."

The screen went blank and the general was gone. Chuck looked at the other two and for the first time that day he and Sarah looked directly at each other. Fire seemed to leap between the two of them and eternity seemed to pass in a moment. Then, suddenly, it was broken.

"The file's coming through now," said Casey, "lets get on it."

-ooo-

Chuck checked the picture on the file again and then looked at the man standing several feet away from him. It was definitely the same man. The man playing guitar hero in the arcade was an escaped mentally ill super genius. He had been surprisingly easy to find. One glance told Chuck that they would only need to check the video stores and the arcade. Sarah and Casey had starting checking the security footage of the various video stores while Chuck went to the arcade. He watched for a moment as his made his way through the particular song, completely engrossed in getting a high score.

"You know, you picked a particularly bad time to run away from your secret underground lab," Chuck said conversationally.

Lazslo froze. He turned to face Chuck and began to back off. His facial expression was akin to one that a deer would have when trapped in a car's headlights.

"No, no, no," he quietly moaned.

"Don't worry," Chuck assured him, putting his hands up, "I'm here to help."

"That's what they all say," Lazslo said, backing away some more.

"I don't work for the government," Chuck said truthfully.

That caused Lazslo to pause for a second. He glanced over Chuck's body, probably noticing that he wasn't wearing any CIA uniform or gadgets. His tracer watch was one of Chuck's own designs.

"Who do you work for?" asked Lazslo. He was still unsure but seemed more confident than he had been before.

"My dad," admitted Chuck, "I'm a sort of rogue agent." Chuck grinned. He had to admit that saying that sounded kind of cool.

"A rogue agent?" asked the still unsure scientist, "like a vigilante?"

"More like a friend."

That seemed to be the keyword. Chuck had always been popular enough but as a kid they had moved around a lot so knew what it felt like to be lonely. Being lonely was tough.

"What do you want with me?" he asked.

"To prevent you from being captured be an evil organization whose aim is world domination!" Chuck admitted. Chuck wasn't a fan of lying and had come to realize a long time ago that often telling the truth was the most sensible option.

Lazslo's eyes widened slightly and he looked around nervously.

"Don't worry, you're safe for now," Chuck assured him, "come on, you look hungry."

-ooo-

"Thank you," Sarah said as she did her best to smile sweetly. She was getting really fed up of trawling through every single video store in LA's camera footage. She had used pretty much the same story with every owner. She was looking for her brother – always use the brother. Friend or boyfriend could put guys off of her and she needed to have them wanting to help her – and he had said that he was going to the video store.

She asks to look through their security tapes and gives them a nice view of cleavage as she did. They never notice that she is looking through far too much of their tapes. There had been one store that had a female manager. She had originally been worried that her cleavage tactic wouldn't work but it turned out the manager was a lesbian and the plan seemed to work even better on her than most of the men.

Sarah made sure that her top was showing just enough cleavage and followed the store manager into the back room.

"Its all here," the man said, pointing at a box of disks. He was ogling her chest.

Sarah walked over to the box and began flicking through the disks. She made sure to bite her lip as she was doing it. She found the one she was looking for and slipped it into the DVD player, bending down to give the manager a view as she did. She admitted to herself that she may have been overdoing it slightly but the manager reminded her of a certain rogue agent she knew. She fast-forwarded through the video, forcing her mind to stay focused, and then a familiar looking man walked into the store. She played the video in real time and watched as Lazslo Mahnovski walked into the shop. She continued watching as two suited men walked into the store behind him – Lazslo had a tail.

She watched, cringing, as the two men walked up to the CIA scientist and pinned him against a wall. He struggled weakly for a moment but something that one of the men said placated him. Then, they let him go and they shook hands. Next, one of them handed him a gun. There was a little more dialogue as one of the men seemed to be showing him how to use it.

"Crap."

"Who's that?" asked Lazslo.

They were sitting in an IHOP, eating pancakes and Chuck's phone had rung. Chuck glanced at his phone and hit the cancel button.

"That," Chuck said with a sigh, "might be my girlfriend."

"Might?" said Lazslo quizzically.

"Yeah," confirmed Chuck, "I don't really know where we stand to be honest."

"Do you like her?"

"Well yeah. She's gorgeous and smart," Chuck replied dreamily. He then added "Her musical knowledge is non existent and she's really not that funny but you can't have everything."

"Then it sounds pretty simple: ask her out."

"You know, for a guy who has lived in an underground lab for most of your life, you're pretty good with people," Chuck laughed.

As he did he glanced across to a table, a short distance away. It had four men who were undoubtedly fulcrum agents sitting round it. How had he not noticed them before?

"You know what," Chuck announced, "I have something for you."

He pulled a pen out of his pocket. He pulled a napkin out from under the cutlery and quickly scribbled. _In ten seconds, duck under the table._ He slid the napkin across the table to Lazslo.

"I need to go to the little boy's room," Chuck said loudly, "I'll see you in a second."

He stood up and headed towards the toilets. Before he had moved even several meters he spun to face the fulcrum agents. He was standing near a chair so he kicked it straight at the agents. He swiped a knife from a table and through it at one of the agents. It hit the agent in the shoulder. The agents had scattered, diving to the ground to get out the way of the flying chair.

The nearest one staggered to his feet just as Chuck's foot collided with him. He was sent backwards by the force of Chuck's jump kick. The next was better prepared but Chuck still managed to kick him in the kneecap. The agent felt down as his leg collapsed under him and a knee to his head knocked him unconscious. Chuck turned to face his two remaining opponents. One was the one that Chuck had hit with the knife. He was now holding the knife.

They both charged at the same time. Chuck frantically dodged the knife attacks and blocked the other agent's punches. He may have been keeping alive but he had no time to attack back and any mistakes would be fatal. Finally, as he dodged behind a table, he managed to pick up a plate. The knife-wielding agent made a thrust with his weapon and Chuck smashed the plate into his hand. The agent dropped the knife and Chuck got in a kick that knocked the agent to the floor. He was clutching his wounded shoulder and didn't get up again. The final agent didn't take long to defeat now that he was alone.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Lazslo, "you just took out a whole bunch of Fulcrum agents!"

Chuck looked pleased with himself for a second but then he suddenly realized that he had never mentioned the word Fulcrum to Lazslo. He turned round to face the scientist and was greeted by the sight of Lazslo pointing a gun at Chuck.

"They were just a decoy," explained Lazslo.

"Fulcrum found you first?" asked Chuck.

"Sorry," Lazslo answered, "you seem like a nice guy and had I been looking for a friend I would have gone straight to you."

The dig stung somewhat.

"However, these guys really appreciate me for what I can do so I'm going with them."

"When they wake up," added Chuck with a bitter laugh.

"On the brighter side of things, you'll already be dead when the shit really hits the fan"

The world seemed to slow as Lazslo squeezed on the trigger.

-ooo-

"Chuck? Chuck? Can you hear me?" The words seemed to come from a million miles away yet they seemed to be getting closer.

Chuck sat up with a gasp. It really hurt to breathe in.

"Chuck, are you okay?" It was Sarah. She was kneeling next to him and looked very worried.

"What happened?" asked Chuck. Everything was a little foggy.

"You were shot," explained Sarah.

"That explains the pain," said a slightly adrenalin high Chuck.

"It was a blank Moron," growled Casey, "man up."

"That's weird," said Chuck, "Lazslo said I was going to be dead."

"It looks like Fulcrum didn't trust him with real bullets."

"They have him then?" asked Chuck.

Sarah nodded.

"Damn."

Several moments of silence passed and Casey wondered off to talk to one of the clean up operatives who were working on restoring the IHOP.

"Sarah," Chuck started. He couldn't believe he was following the advice of someone who had tried to kill him but strangely Lazslo had been right.

-ooo-

"Chuck, I know what you're going to say," interrupted the female agent, "but my answer is no. We're spies Chuck and spies can't have real relationships. We can't have feelings or families or friend because they are weapons that can be used against us and you know as well as I do that Fulcrum will use them against us."

Chuck nodded and Sarah stood up. She didn't want Chuck to see how much it hurt her to say those things. She headed towards the exit as she felt tears come to her eyes. She really cared about Chuck. She didn't really know him but her feelings were deep nonetheless. When she had thought Chuck was dead she hadn't known what to do. She had rushed to his side without checking for enemies and had barely kept it together. If this was what she was like barely knowing Chuck what would she be like if she got to know him better and fell in love with him? The possibility of losing him was too painful. When Tennyson had written 'better to have loved and lost than never have loved at all,' had he known how wrong he was?


	10. Chuck Vs the management change

**This chapter is a long time coming. I struggled a lot with where I was going with certain elements of the storyline and after completely re-writing my ideas and taking some time off I have written another chapter. I hope its not inconsistent with the previous couple.**

**I do not own Chuck.**

"Hey sis," said a weary Chuck. He had just got back from the mission briefing. Explaining to the head of the CIA that he had been knocked unconscious by a blank had not been a fun experience.

Ellie smiled at him with tight lips. It was saying, 'be brave.'

"Hey little brother," said Ellie from her position on the edge of the fountain, "what's bothering you?"

"Same old," replied Chuck. Despite his dismissive response, he joined his sister on the stone surface.

"Is it bad to lie to the people you care about?" Chuck asked cryptically.

Ellie looked over at him. This was a conversation that they had had many times before.

"Not if its to protect them," Ellie replied.

Chuck thought for a moment and then said, "We've always lied to people but this time its different. This time I'm hiding the truth because I'm scared of Fulcrum finding out what I know."

"Don't let fear guide you Chuck," warned his sister, "You are Chuck Bartowski! Computer super genius and the most logical person I know. If keeping a secret will help protect people and aid in defeat of fulcrum then its worth lying to your friends and family. Besides, its comforting to know that you've got something up your sleeve."

Chuck looked at his sister for a moment, trying to work out how she got so wise.

"You really think we can do it don't you? Defeat Fulcrum, I mean."

"Yes."

"Thanks sis," Chuck said, getting up.

"Sit," ordered Ellie, "there's something else bothering you isn't there."

"Not something," admitted Chuck, "Someone."

- 0 0 0 -

Graham sat down with his drink and resisted the urge to let out a sigh. It wasn't that sighing itself was a bad thing but it was involuntary and once you let in one involuntary action, you opened the floodgates for many more. He had dark circles around his eyes and his lips were set in a permanent snarl – the past weeks hadn't been kind on him.

He drank a mouthful of the drink and coughed quietly. Whatever he was drinking, it was strong. It was dark in his office, as the sun had set while he was still working and he still hadn't turned on the lights. His reading lamp was on but it didn't provide much illumination. He raised his glass to his lips once more but paused before he drank anything. He put the glass back down on his desk with a dull clunk and sat up straight.

Something wasn't right. Graham hadn't been a field agent in a long, long time but he still had the instincts that had allowed him to rise to become the director of the CIA. He opened the second draw down as quietly as he could and pulled out the CIA standard issue side arm that he kept in there. He flicked off the safety and stood up. He moved to the wall beside the door and waited. There was only one way in and out of the room and he had it covered.

Almost three minutes passed with no sign of movement. Just as Graham started to relax the wall exploded outwards. The director of the CIA was flung across the room. He landed head first into his overly large desk, amidst a pile of rubble.

"Hello Graham," said a voice. Graham must have blacked out for a moment because was a figure standing over him.

Despite his situation – he could feel blood pooling around his head – he launching himself at his attacker. The man – someone who Graham recognized but couldn't quite place – was taken by surprise and the director tackled him into the remains of the wall. Graham raised his fist to deliver a punch but he couldn't do it. He had no energy left. He swayed on the spot for a moment, feeling his vision slip away. He died still on his feet.

- 0 0 0 -

"Now that's unexpected," Chuck muttered to himself. Through a security cam, he was watching Sarah Walker walk into the courtyard outside his apartment. Why would Sarah be coming to his apartment? He had been sent no communication from Beckman and Sarah had made it perfectly clear that she didn't want to be involved with him. He went to let her in.

"Sarah," Chuck greeted as he opened the door.

"Graham's been assassinated," Sarah said immediately as she pushed past him, "Our operation has been shut down and I have been ordered to report to the new director. Of course, I'm not going to do that considering that the new director is probably fulcrum. We're on our own."

Chuck immediately forgot about all of the things he was going to say to Sarah and started thinking about the situation."

"What about Casey?"

"He's on his way," answered Sarah, "he's implementing situation Romulus."

Situation Romulus was a plan devised by Chuck and Sarah only days ago to make it look like Castle had been attacked and Sarah and Casey were both wounded. It involved fake footage implanted into the feed is Castle as well as suitably wrecking the inside of the base. In the even of a Fulcrum take over, they could make it look like they were either dead or dying.

"Beckman?"

"I don't know."

Chuck paused for a moment, thinking.

"There's a piece of the puzzle missing," Chuck thought out loud, "The intersect makes sense; replacing Graham makes sense. But if they have control of the CIA why would they take Lazslo? Why wouldn't they just wait until they control the CIA and then just legally seize whatever he's working on?"

"There are certain projects within the CIA that are directly overseen by a representative of the president. They're normally highly dangerous," Sarah suggested.

"We need to find out what he was working on."

"Shall we grab his handler?"

"No," replied Chuck, "I am going to grab his handler. You are supposed to be dead and will lie low."

- 0 0 0 -

Special Agent Ericsson almost groaned as he sat down. It had been a long day searching for his escaped asset and there was nothing he wanted more than to sit on the bench and watch the seagulls. He raised the cup of coffee to his lips and sipped at it. It burned his mouth but he didn't mind. The pain was far more effective than the caffeine would be.

A man sat down next to him, which mildly annoyed the CIA handler. This was his bench – he wasn't really in the mood to be sharing it.

"Nice evening for watching the gulls," the man said quietly, "wouldn't you agree Agent Ericsson?"

Ericsson immediately tensed up.

"You don't remember me do you Ericsson? We met at Carly's party."

Special Agent Ericsson relaxed a little at the sound of the code word; not entirely but a little.

"Ah yes, I remember your face now. What did you say your name was?"

The man paused. Ericsson couldn't decide whether his fellow agent was deciding what to tell him or whether the man just spoke at a leisurely pace.

"Carmichael," the man finally answered.

Any tension that had left his body returned immediately. He knew that name – everyone in the CIA knew that name although no one really knew who or what it was. Ericsson weighed up his options and decided that caution was the best strategy.

"And what can I do for you, Mr. Carmichael?"

"You can live," Chuck replied cryptically.

"Would you mind elaborating?"

"Not at all, Agent Ericsson. That coffee you're drinking has been spiked."

Ericsson immediately spat out a mouthful of coffee.

"The poison will have reached your bloodstream by now and you will die in no more than two minutes. Its effectiveness relies on heart rate so I suggest you refrain from making any sudden movements. In fact, I would keep very still if I were you."

"What do you want?" Ericsson asked, carefully controlling his breathing in order to keep his heart rate down.

"I would like to offer you a trade: Give me the password to your secure server and I will provide you with the antidote to the poison."

"Doesn't sound like much of a choice."

"That's the point, Mr. Ericsson."

The CIA agent evaluated his situation. He recognised that he couldn't outsmart Carmichael while he was dying or dead. He would have to give him the code and get the antidote. Only then could he fight him.

"Its 'Six six eight four four seven one'"

"Thank you," replied Chuck, "I just need to check that."

He pulled out a small handheld computer and typed in the number. He looked at the screen and then pulled a small vial out of his pocket and passed it to Laszlo's handler.

"And as promised – the antidote."

The agent downed the contents of the vial immediately.

Chuck grimaced and stood up.

"Thank you for your help, Agent Ericsson."

"I can't let you leave, Carmichael," threatened the CIA agent. He hadn't stood up but he had moved his hand closer to his gun holster.

"You can't stop me," countered Chuck, "In fact, you're probably feeling a little drowsy right now. The poison I put in your coffee was nothing more than a bluff. And the antidote? Sedative."

Chuck walked away, leaving the unconscious CIA agent on the bench.

- 0 0 0 -

Sarah sat down on the edge of the fountain. She had been ordered to go there by Chuck's sister. Ellie had a strange ability to get people to do what she wanted.

"What did you want to talk to me about?" Sarah asked.

"Chuck," Ellie replied monosyllabically. For someone so eloquent, she could be very short with her language.

"He's a great agent," Sarah carefully avoided the topic.

"I didn't say that I wanted to talk about agent Carmichael. I said I wanted to talk about Chuck."

Sarah stared into the middle distance, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Ellie. Chuck's sister had one of those piercing stares that could shame you into giving up your darkest secrets.

"What are you afraid of Sarah?"

"Emotions are liabilities," Sarah started to explain, "I have spent my entire adult life working to become a better agent so when the time comes I can protect my country. That time has come and I need to be the best that I can."

"You think Chuck is emotionless?"

"No, of course not," Sarah replied, aghast that Ellie would suggest such a thing, "He's the most caring person I know."

"Yet he is, by your own admission, 'a great agent.'"

Sarah smiled at Ellie's clever use of logic.

"It doesn't hurt to let someone in," added Ellie, "in fact, I would say that having something – someone – worth fighting for is vital."

"I've never had anyone to fight for," admitted Sarah, "I've been in relationships before, even ones with fellow agents but I never felt like I do now. I've never been afraid of losing them."

"Have I become a coward Ellie?" she asked.

"No, of course not," soothed Ellie, "love hurts and all we can do is be brave."

Sarah made an involuntary jerk as Ellie said the word 'love'.

"How do I reconcile killing people?" Sarah suddenly asked.

"Killing isn't wrong if in doing so you save many other lives."

"I've killed a lot of people Ellie. I'm afraid that if I start letting my emotions in I'll let their ghosts in too."

"Chuck's afraid of the same thing," admitted Ellie, "so he refuses to use guns and only ever knocks people out. We might have defeated Fulcrum by now if he wasn't so moral."

Sarah was shocked. She didn't expect Ellie, the compassionate doctor, to be advocating murder so freely. Strangely it was what Sarah needed to hear. She realised that she didn't need to completely block out her emotions.

"I made a right mess of things with Chuck," admitted Sarah, going back to the original topic.

"I know that this may be a difficult for you," Ellie suggested, "but you could try telling him the truth."

"Believe it or not, that's what Chuck's been trying to get me to do all along."

**Apologies for taking so long over writing this.**

**Thanks for all the reviews that I have had. I really do try to take everything into account so please write them.**


	11. Chuck Vs the Norseman

**This one was a long time coming. Any reviews are really helpful so please write them.**

**I do not own Chuck :(**

-ooo-

"This is the right address?" asked Sarah.

"According to our intel," confirmed Ellie, speaking through the team's earpieces.

"Sure doesn't look like the lair of someone who built a super weapon," mused Casey.

"Well it wouldn't be a very good lair if it looked suspicious," Chuck replied, "besides, he's not exactly an evil genius. He destroyed the prototype as soon as he realized what he had built."

"The spy satellite's in position so you are a go," Ellie informed the team.

The three rogue agents got out of the car and headed towards the house.

"Keep your eyes open for cameras," Sarah warned as they walked up the garden path towards the semidetached house. They reached the front of the house without incident. None of them would have admitted it but all three of them were expecting some kind of trap.

Chuck rang the doorbell and a middle-aged man answered the door. He matched the picture that they had pulled off the Internet, although he had obviously put on weight since then.

"Can I help you," he asked pleasantly.

"Dr. Fieldman?" asked Sarah even though they knew who he was.

"We're from the NSA," Casey explained, holding up his ID card. Casey and Sarah were officially rogue agents now but there was no was Dr. Fieldman would know that.

"You better come in then," Fieldman said and he opened his door wider.

The three of them entered the house into a large spacious hall. It had a large mirror on one side, which made the room appear even larger than it was.

"Do you mind taking your shoes off?" Dr. Fieldman asked although it sounded more like an order than a request. Chuck slipped off his shoes and placed them next to one of the pairs lining the wall. He was about the walk further into the house but something made him look at the shoes again.

"Look at the shoes," Chuck murmured, just loud enough for the other two to hear.

"We've got company," Sarah confirmed under her breath.

"CIA," Chuck said.

"Fulcrum," Casey growled.

"I take it our colleagues are already with you," Chuck asked the doctor.

"Yes, yes, they're in the living room right now," Fieldman answered, "through here."

"In that case I apologize what I'm about to do," Chuck said, pulling a small flash bang grenade out of his pocket. He tossed it to Sarah, who was standing next to the door to the living room. She pulled the pin out of the grenade, opened the door, threw it in, and closed the door again.

There was a slightly muffled explosion and the door rattled as the grenade went off. A moment passed where everything seemed absurdly quiet and the three agents sprung into action. Casey pushed himself up against the wall next to the door; Sarah pulled the door open; and Chuck burst into the doorway, tranquilizer gun in his hand.

The room was empty.

"No contacts," Chuck advised, "Ellie, has anyone been seen leaving the house?"

"No, the satellite images show no one entering or leaving the house in the time that you have been there."

Casey, gun drawn, moved to cover the stairs while Sarah guarded the corridor to the rest of the house. Chuck turned to Dr. Fieldman.

"They told me you were coming," Fieldman said, before Chuck could speak. The doctor was pointing a gun at Chuck's head.

"Fieldman," Chuck replied measuredly, "whatever they said, whatever they told you, it was a lie." Then, he added, "This muddies the waters."

"I would appreciate it if you and your partners were to put down their weapons," Fieldman said, ignoring Chuck.

"Guys," Chuck said, "would you mind putting your guns down? Fieldman seems to think that we're the bad guys."

Sarah and Casey did as they were asked and turned to face the doctor.

"Numb-nuts," Casey muttered under his breath.

"I don't think insulting him will help matters," Sarah muttered back.

"He's about to shoot the wrong people," retorted Casey, "I think the words 'numb-nuts' apply."

"I'm standing right here," Dr. Fieldman cut in, "I can hear you!"

"So, what now?" asked Chuck.

"Now," said a voice behind him, "you go to prison for a very long time."

"For what exactly?" asked Sarah, as she turned to face the two suited men entering the hallway.

"Murder, grievous bodily harm, theft, impersonating officers of the law, perversion of justice," the other, slightly shorter agent said, "How's that for starters?"

"You might struggle to prosecute," retorted Casey, "since we didn't do any of those things."

"Not my problem," the agent replied, "I'm just under orders to bring you in."

"Oh," Chuck suddenly said, "that's clever. That is very clever."

"Would you mind filling us in?" asked Sarah.

"We came here expecting to find Fulcrum agents," explained Chuck, "but they didn't send fulcrum agents. They sent regular CIA agents."

"Great," moaned Casey, "These morons think they're the good guys."

"Well," mused Chuck, "technically they are still the good guys."

"Line up against the wall," ordered the first agent, "face it with your hands behind your back."

"You got a plan?" Sarah muttered to Casey.

"We can take them," Casey replied, "but one of us is going to get shot."

"It's a good thing they asked us to face the wall," Chuck said as if he hadn't heard them.

"What?" Sarah and Casey simultaneously asked.

"I brought two flash-bangs," Chuck explained with a shrug, "I left the second one with our shoes."

The three of them squeezed their eyes shut just in time for the flash bang to detonate. Closing their eyes helped with the light but the noise was still deafening. Ignoring the pain in their ears they spun round and efficiently dealt with the two CIA agents. One received a single punch to the head from Casey and the other a kick from Sarah. That was all it took.

-ooo-

"Dr. Fieldman," said Chuck as he knelt down beside the portly man, "are you okay?"

The Doctor stared up at Chuck with bloodshot eyes. He was visibly disorientated from the effect of the grenade.

"Wh-who are you?" he stuttered.

Chuck did his best to look kindly at him and replied, "My name is Charles Carmichael and I am the man who just saved your life."

"I don't understand," Fieldman almost whined, "what's going on?"

"You've probably been fed some lie about how I'm a rogue agent trying to rebuild the weapon that you designed, and up until a moment ago you believed that lie. Now, I think, you're not so sure. It's my word versus their word and you don't know who to believe. Am I correct?"

Fieldman nodded.

"Let me tell you this: I know that you built the most deadly weapon known to man but I am not interested in building the weapon. My only interest in the weapon is finding out how to stop it from working."

"You're talking about the Norseman?" the doctor asked. His expression changed from shock to fear.

"Yes, I am."

"It is a vile creation," he spat, his voice more sturdy.

"What is it?"

"You don't know?" he asked, "I guess that makes sense. If you knew what it did you would know there is nothing you can do to stop it."

"There is a way to block every weapon," Chuck replied.

"Not the Norseman. It uses gamma radiation. If you have a sample of someone's DNA you tune the frequency of the radiation to be the same as the resonant frequency of the target DNA. As you may know, gamma radiation passes through any material known to mankind and has an unlimited range. It is unstoppable."

"What does it do?"

"To everything but the target? Nothing," explained the doctor, "To the target? It rips the target DNA to shreds within minutes."

"You could assassinate someone on the other side of the planet in their own home," said a shocked Chuck.

"Providing you have a sample of their DNA."

"No wonder Fulcrum are after it," added Chuck, "they could kill anyone they wanted and blackmail everyone else. Please tell me there are no working copies."

"There are none," Fieldman confirmed, "but there is one copy of the schematic. It was needed for a project called Intersect."

"Shit."

"Chuck, we have a problem," Ellie said through the earpiece, "you have a number of suspicious vehicles approaching. They are probably fulcrum agents."

"ETA?"

"60 seconds."

Chuck stood up and slipped back into the persona of Charles Carmichael.

"Dr. Fieldman, do you have a car in that garage I saw?"

"Yes I have an Audi Q7."

Chuck ginned.

"Sounds like a good get away vehicle to me," said Casey.

-ooo-

"Dad, tell me you have the Trojan ready for upload," Chuck said as he entered the Bartowski base of operations.

"Charles! What's going on?" said Steven.

"I have no time to explain," Chuck replied as he started pulling equipment out of a locker, "but I have the bait we need. It's a weapon called the Norseman; can you upload that?"

"I need more than a name Charles."

"All I have is that name and the keywords gamma, radiation, DNA and resonance. Can you make that look like a legitimate flash?" Chuck added as he loaded his tranq pistols.

"Yes."

"Good, don't forget the coordinates. Sarah's already there so the moment Fulcrum agents turn up looking for the Norseman we'll know. When they find nothing they'll head straight back to their base of operations, leading us right there."

"Hold on Bryce, we're coming for you."

**Thanks for reading.**


	12. Chuck Vs the base

**Someone told me I had to update more quickly if I wanted reviews. Well, here you go then.**

**I do not own chuck**

-ooo-

"Any word from Casey?" Chuck asked as he climbed down into the sports car.

"Nothing so far," replied Sarah. There was no hint of concern in her voice but her forehead furrowed slightly. She was trying to convince Chuck that she didn't think anything was wrong.

Chuck glanced up into the rear-view mirror. The way it was angled gave him a view of his partner. It was the first time he had properly looked at her in what seemed like days. Her hair was a total mess and her make-up was smudged yet she was still the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Sarah glanced up at the mirror and now they found themselves locked in eye contact.

Chuck forced himself to snap out of that train of thought; this wasn't the time.

"He's probably having too much fun bashing in Fulcrum agents' heads. We're going to have to go in without him," Chuck finally said, breaking eye contact and staring furiously out the window. He hoped Casey had found a safe location for Dr. Fieldman.

"Chuck," said Sarah, barely audibly.

Chuck didn't respond even though he heard her so she carried on, "we need to talk."

Chuck turned to face her and opened his mouth to speak. There were so many things he wanted to say; so many questions he wanted to ask her.

Eventually, he said, "Not now. Now is the time for action."

Chuck opened the door of the car and stepped out into the chilly night air and Sarah followed him moments later, her armor back up and a cold gaze in her eyes.

-ooo-

Chuck stared at the fulcrum base for a moment. It looked just like a regular office block with its reflective windows and large lobby, nestled in between two other, much more imposing buildings. It was one of these other two buildings that was the key to getting into the fulcrum base. The two rogue agents walked briskly up the steps towards the large bank on the left of the base. It was completely dark inside and getting to the building without setting off the alarms wouldn't be a challenge. However, setting the alarms off was part of the plan so instead of picking the lock Sarah pulled out her trademark handgun and fired a single shot through the glass front door. The glass shattered and fell to earth in a cascade of razor sharp shards. Chuck stepped through the doorway and felt the glass make a satisfying crunching under his boots. The alarms went off immediately.

"Right, lets go," said Chuck, "we're now working to a schedule."

The two agents headed to the stairwell and proceeded to run up the stairs. The building was over a hundred stories high but they couldn't risk taking the lift. They were both out of breath by the time they reached the roof.

"Get the suits ready," ordered Chuck, "I'll phone the police."

Sarah knelt down and started unpacking one of the bags they had brought with them while Chuck dialed 911 on the phone he had bought early that day.

"Hi. Police please. I've just seen what looks like terrorists. They're armed to the teeth and they've just gone into the Bank of America building. No, wait; some of them have just gone into the short black building next to it. I think there are civilians in there, please hurry," Chuck spoke down the phone and then threw it off the side of the building. The sound of sirens could already be heard.

"SWAT should be on their way, let's go."

Sarah had already put on her base-jumping suit so she helped Chuck get into his as quickly as possible. Time was of the essence. When all the buckles were tightened and then checked they walked to the edge of the building.

"You ever base jumped before?" Chuck asked Sarah.

"No," Sarah replied. She had a grin on her face, from the adrenaline no doubt.

"Me neither," Chuck admitted and then leapt of the edge of the building. He left it a fraction of a second for him to clear the building and opened his parachute. Seconds later he hit the roof of the fulcrum base. He performed a roll in order to stop him legs from taking the impact of the fall and his parachute fell to the group around him. There was a dull thud and Sarah landed beside him.

"Clear?" asked Sarah.

"Clear," confirmed Chuck, "lets get inside before the police arrive."

The two of them detached themselves from their chutes and quickly rolled them back up. Then, Chuck hacked his way through the roof access door.

The top floor of the fulcrum building was bathed in a dull green light that seemed to cast long, eerie shadows. Sarah stood still and pointed a small laser at the infrared camera, blinding it completely, while Chuck rushed over to the first doorway. It was locked with a regular lock rather than an electronic one so he picked it quickly and took over shining the laser into the camera's lens while Sarah came joined him at the door.

They then slipped into the room and closed the door behind them. The room appeared to be a large, spacious office but it had no cameras. Whoever owned this office was high enough up the pecking order and paranoid enough to prevent any cameras from being installed. Chuck walked over to the computer and pulled out his own wrist mounted one. He connected the two computers and uploaded a specially designed computer program. The screen on his wrist computer lit up and started displaying information.

"And we're in," Chuck said softly, "Bryce is being held in a cell on the 4th floor. Let's go."

Chuck and Sarah left the office and headed towards the elevator. Chuck glanced up at the camera as they passed it. He really hoped that his virus had interfered with the security footage like it was supposed to. They reached the elevator without meeting a single person.

"This is going too smoothly," murmured Chuck as he pressed the button for the fourth floor. Sarah didn't respond although Chuck wasn't surprised. She didn't engage in idle chat while on missions, even when there was obvious tension between the two of them. Chuck wished Casey was with them; he had a way of dispelling that tension.

The elevator door opened into a sort of lobby. Unlike the top floor, this floor was brightly lit and was populated with security guards. Chuck had a brief moment to wonder why that hadn't shown up on his computer before the fulcrum agents realised that the two people in the lift were not supposed to be in the building. Thinking swiftly Chuck pressed a small button on the side of his computer. There was a sudden flash as a surge of electricity passed through the lights illuminating the room and then they were plunged into complete darkness as they shorted out. Sarah and Chuck darted out of the elevator and into the lobby before they could be cornered. It may have been completely dark but the room was far from quiet, as agents blundered about. One man was demanding a report and another was ordering his men to shoot the intruders.

"Happy?" Sarah said sarcastically, in response to Chuck's earlier comment.

"I'll take the left half of the room if you take the right," suggested Chuck, ignoring her reply. Then for some reason Chuck added, "I'll race you."

"You're on," replied Sarah. Chuck couldn't see her properly but he could tell by the sound of her voice that she was smiling. Suddenly her vague outline disappeared into the black as she set about dealing with the guards.

Chuck sprang to action, heading towards the sound of the nearest fulcrum agent. He took the agent by surprise by kneeing him in stomach. He heard the air leave the agent's lungs all in one go and the agent failed the respond to Chuck's attack. An uppercut knocked the agent flying. From the way he fell, Chuck knew he wouldn't be getting up. Chuck dispatched the next agent with equal ease. The third agent put up more of a fight. He made a few attempts at punching Chuck in the face but they were easily dodged. A kick to the head knocked him out.

Suddenly, there was another agent next to him and Chuck turned to face him. He struck out at the agent but pulled it at the last minute as something seemed wrong. The agent returned the strike but Chuck blocked it and brought himself closer to the agent.

Suddenly he stopped. He recognized the faint outline.

"You're getting sloppy Agent Carmichael," Sarah playfully scolded. She was breathing heavily and was so close that Chuck could feel her breath on his skin.

"You can talk, Agent Walker," Chuck teased back, "that punch was way off target."

"Its not my fault that I don't want to damage that pretty face," she replied. Chuck heard a sudden intake of breath, like she couldn't quite believe that she had allowed herself to say that.

"Sarah, you can't – "Chuck started to say but then interjected with, "Behind you!"

Sarah turned round just as an agent moved to rugby tackle her from behind. She intercepted him mid lunge and redirected him, using his own moment against him. He flew into Chuck's perfectly timed roundhouse kick.

"Sarah you can't reject me and then say things like that," Chuck said again.

"Chuck, nine o'clock," Sarah blurted out.

Chuck reacted to the approaching agent with a perfect spinning jump and then a blow to the head.

"I know I'm sorry," Sarah carried on, "The way I acted before. I was just scared. I'm crazy about you!"

"Scared of what?" Chuck asked, completely bemused.

"Of letting you in, of letting myself feel!" Sarah cried as she took down another agent.

"But most of all of losing you."

"Sarah you will never lose me."

The lights turned back on and there was one Fulcrum agent left. He was standing several feet away with his gun pointed at Sarah. A moment passed and then he collapsed in a heap. Chuck's tranquilliser pistol was drawn at the hip.

"Using a gun is definitely cheating," said Sarah as she took a step towards Chuck.

"Looks like you won then," replied Chuck as he took a step towards Sarah.

"In more ways than one," Sarah got in before their lips met each other in a passionate kiss.

After what could have been centuries or could have been mere moments they stopped. They didn't remove each other from their embrace straight away though, just enjoying their closeness.

"We need to continue this conversation later," said Sarah, "But first, lets save the world."

-ooo-

There were two thuds as the guards crumpled to the ground, unconscious. Chuck removed the empty magazine from his pistol and placed a new one in the chamber. They then ran to the door the agents had been guarding and Chuck set about opening it using his wrist computer.

"Chuck what's taking so long?" asked Sarah, "SWAT should be here any second."

"I hope this works," replied Chuck, "if Fulcrum tell the police that they're CIA before they start shooting each other they'll realize they've been duped."

"It'll work," Sarah replied confidently. They were relying somewhat on the trigger-happy nature of the armed response units and Fulcrum's paranoia.

With a hiss the cell door opened and Chuck swept into the room. Bryce was huddled in the far corner of the small metal cell. He looked an absolute mess. He was still wearing the clothes he had been taken in although they were now ripped and stained with dried blood. Thankfully none of it looked fresh. Bryce didn't seem to notice that Chuck was even there so Chuck walked over to him and put his hand on his shoulder. Bryce suddenly looked up and started at Chuck's face. His eyes were wide and his facial expression was that of fear.

"What have they done to you?" Chuck whispered.

"Chuck?" Bryce tried to say. His voice cracked as he spoke – when was the last time they had given him something to drink?

"Its me Bryce," Chuck said, trying to sound reassuring, "we've come to get you out."

Bryce shook his head as if to tell Chuck that he was wrong.

"It's a trick. It must be a trick."

"It really is me Bryce. Come on, let's get you out of here."

Chuck put his arm round his old friend's shoulder and helped him to his feet. By the way Bryce felt, he probably wouldn't be capable of walking on his own.

"Oh my God!" cried Sarah as she Chuck practically carrying Bryce out of the cell.

"Nice to see you too Sarah," Bryce managed to say.

"Let's get out of this hellhole," Sarah said, returning to her usual calm demeanour.

The three of them headed back the way Sarah and Chuck had come, Sarah just ahead ready to take on any Fulcrum agents they ran into. More than once Sarah turned round a corner and opened fire with her silenced pistol. Not once was a return shot fired. Within minutes they were back at the level four lobby. This time, however, it had even more Fulcrum agents in it. Some were checking bodies while others were on guard. It would be a matter of minutes before they decided to check on the intersect.

"It looks like we're in a bit of trouble," whispered Chuck.

"There's twenty agents," agreed Sarah, "even we can't take on those odds."

"And I can't do that trick with the lights again," Chuck added as he glanced down at his wrist computer, "Fulcrum's computer scientists are putting up one hell of a fight against my virus."

"So what do we do?" asked Bryce. He seemed a little stronger now and was taking most of his weight.

"We wait for backup," said Chuck.

As if on cue, somewhere else in the building gunfire broke out. It sounded dull and distant from the cell but it signified the next stage in their plan.

"Who've you brought?" Bryce joked quietly, "the national guard?"

He tried to chuckle but it turned into a cough.

"SWAT," replied Chuck, "it was the best I could do on short notice."

"That explains why you're wearing SWAT uniform."

At once the agent in charge barked down his radio for someone to explain what was going on. When he got no response he signified that his men were to follow him and headed towards the stairs. There were now only two agents standing guard.

"Convenient," Bryce remarked and Chuck stepped out into the lobby. He dispatched the two guards with ease.

"Quickly," ordered Chuck, "SWAT have taken control of the first floor. We can take the elevator straight there and then we're free."

-ooo-

**Thanks for reading. Please review even if its just one word**


	13. Chuck Vs the End

**Author's Note: The last chapter! Sorry it took so long**

**I don't own Chuck.**

The sports car screeched to a halt. Sarah Walker didn't get out of the car for a few moments; she needed to settle her thoughts. She turned off the engine and the dim dashboard lighting disappeared. Without the roar of the engine it was quite peaceful. She had split up with Chuck and Bryce on the way back to the Bartowski base because they had gained a tail. She had driven round in circles at a reckless pace for nearly an hour to make sure she wasn't being followed. Suddenly realizing that Chuck was probably back already she bound out of the car and headed to the house.

"Sarah you're back," said a relieved sounding Chuck as Sarah came in through the door. Chuck was standing up – he looked like he had been pacing – while Ellie patched up Bryce's many cuts. It took all of Sarah's willpower to not throw herself into Chuck's arms.

"I was worried that they had caught up with you," he said.

"I did have to drive like a maniac," replied Sarah and Chuck smiled. He remembered accusing her of driving like a maniac last time she had been involved in a road chase.

"You're very good at that," admitted Chuck.

"We got away," agreed Sarah, "that's the main thing."

"How's he doing?" she asked, gesturing towards Bryce.

"Not good," answered Ellie, "he's taken a beating not to mention the effects of constantly flashing."

"What happens if you flash too much?" asked Sarah.

"We don't know exactly but we do know that the brain isn't designed to handle that much data. Who knows what damage has been caused."

"At least we didn't leave him in there," said Chuck, trying to see the brighter side.

"And from a tactical perspective, we have removed the advantage of having the intersect," said Steven as he entered the room, "but we have a much bigger problem."

Chuck and Sarah looked at each other. There was only one problem bigger than the intersect.

"You're going to want to come and watch this," instructed Steven.

"_People of America!" the man practically bellowed at the camera. The room was dark and the picture quality was poor – nothing about his location could be determined._

"_My name is not important because here I am more than a man. I am part of the Khel Taliban and I have come to deliver a message to the citizens of The United States of America. I have come to deliver a warning."_

"_For too long have you meddled with our country. For too have your troops occupied our lands. For too long have we cowered in fear from your might."_

"_But no longer!"_

"_A new weapon was made by American scientists, one so powerful that no one would dare fight against America, but it is now in our hands."_

_We, the Khel Taliban, are in possession of a weapon called the Norseman that can be used to kill anyone in the world with a single press of a button._

_If the US does not make an immediate withdrawal from our country, your beloved president will die._

_To make sure you know that we are serious in our threats we have already used this weapon. The US defense secretary is dead by our hands._

_We would like to thank the head of the NSA for providing us with the Norseman, they have been most helpful._

_If there are troops in Afghanistan by the end of the week your president will die. _

Chuck just stared at the computer screen. At some point during the video Sarah's hand had slipped into his and she was gripping it tightly. Her face looked pale.

Steven finally spoke, "This video was shown by news agencies across the globe twenty minutes ago."

"So I guess Fulcrum found the schematic in the intersect then," Chuck mused, "and are planning on using it to assassinate the President."

His Dad nodded grimly.

"But why use the terrorists?" asked Sarah.

"They need a scapegoat," Chuck replied, "They need someone who can be blamed for the atrocities they are going to commit while at the same time giving them the excuse they need to commit more."

"Not to mention they've weakened the NSA at the same time," added Steven, "giving the new CIA director, and Fulcrum, even more power."

"There's only one piece missing though," said Sarah, "how are they going to get the president's DNA?"

"This death threat is the perfect excuse for the director of the CIA to meet with the president personally," Steven replied, "That is when they'll collect his DNA."

"Damn, they are smart," Chuck said. He did sound a little impressed.

"But we're smarter," retorted Steven.

Chuck finally smiled, "I already have a plan."

-000-

"Ellie," said Chuck, "I'm going to need to talk to your patient."

"I know what you're going to ask Chuck, and I can't let you do that. Bryce has undergone enough as it is. One more flash, and it could cause irreparable brain damage."

Chuck sighed. He was in the makeshift medical room, perched on the edge of the bed, holding a photograph of the new director in his hands. He needed to know whether the new director was Fulcrum or whether he was just being manipulated by them. The computer in Bryce's brain could tell him the answer.

"Is it that bad?" he asked as he placed the photo on the bedside table.

"I need to get him to an MRI scanner but judging from my initial tests the constant flashing is creating a tolerance to the neurotransmitter glutamate. His brain could stop functioning if the situation gets any worse."  
>"He can't be allowed to flash can he?" realized Chuck.<p>

Ellie shook her head. "He's asleep now but I've been considering sedating him because I'm scared that he's going to flash on something one of us says."

"Does he have to be conscious to flash?" asked Chuck.

"Good question," Ellie conceded, "On that note, please get out."

"In that case, come into the mission room. We'll need your input."

The two siblings exited the room and Bryce's eyes flashed open. He had been awake for the whole conversation but decided that it was best if they didn't know it. He sat up. Ellie had put a drip in him and he was much stronger because of it but doing so still made him dizzy. Bryce glanced over at the bedside table. There was a photo – turned so the picture faced downwards – placed carelessly next to the lamp. Chuck had left it there when he exited the room and Bryce knew his old friend well enough that it wasn't by accident. Its presence was Chuck's way of telling Bryce that it was up to him whether he looked at it. Flashing had started to really hurt. He had blacked out afterwards the past several times but whether that was because of the pain or something more sinister Bryce didn't know. He mulled over the idea of just going back to sleep. After everything Bryce had been through he deserved that didn't he?

"_Don't be a coward Bryce." _He could almost hear the voice of his old CIA instructor. He had said that to Bryce on numerous occasions. Of course, Bryce had never been a coward but for some reason that comment had always hit home.

"I'm not a coward." Had Bryce said that out loud?

"_Be objective." _

He weighed up the consequences of his actions and knew that he had to look at the picture. The fate of the America and potentially the fate of the whole world was in the balance; he couldn't sit idly by while Chuck, Sarah, and Casey risked their lives. Bryce picked up the photograph and turned it.

-000-

Casey looked at the house through the binoculars. He didn't need the intersect's intel to know that someone was being held captive inside; it was crawling with Fulcrum agents. Casey started planning his route of attack; he would have to be fast if he were to deal with the Fulcrum operatives before they put a gun to the two captives' heads and forced him to stop. If there was anything Casey hated more than communists, it was people getting Children involved, and that was just what Fulcrum had done. Inside the basement of the safe house were the Director of the CIA's two children. They were being used as leverage to blackmail the director and they needed to be rescued before Chuck's plan could be put into motion. Casey put down the binoculars and checked his guns – his plan was simple, shoot his way in.

-000-

"That was Casey," said Chuck, "he's got the director's kids."

"Alright, let's go," replied Sarah.

The two of them were sitting in an SUV. Chuck had a map sprawled across his lap and they had been pretending to argue over directions for the past twenty minutes. Hopefully they looked like an ordinary couple who had got lost. They both pulled off their coats to reveal the black mission uniform and exited the car. They quickly disappeared into the shadows around the Fulcrum base. They had found the base by tailing the head of the CIA back here after his meeting with the President; it was a different base to the previous one they had stormed. This one was on the site of an old abandoned warehouse, presumably occupying the space below ground. Chuck and Sarah slipped through a broken window and moved stealthily through the warehouse, searching for anything that looked like a secret entrance.

"The vending machine," Sarah whispered, and Chuck nodded. Most of the machine was old and dusty but the array of buttons looked like they had been pressed recently.

They approached the machine, half expecting alarms to go off and a team of Fulcrum agents to descend from the roof. Nothing happen. Sarah prized off the covering with a small crowbar, revealing a level of circuitry that you would not expect to find in a vending machine. Chuck then connected his wrist computer to the circuit board and started typing.

"Fools," muttered Chuck as he hacked into their system. The computer in the vending machine was connected to the base's network, allowing Chuck to deactivate their defences without even entering the base.

"I've looped the cameras and deactivated the manual alarm response," Chuck said as he worked, "now I just need to locate the CIA director."

There was a pause and then Chuck said, "Got him. He's on the fifth level in a holding cell. The whole level looks like some sort of detention level so it's heavily guarded – it's going to be a pain getting to him."

"We'll worry about that when we get there," replied Sarah, "let's go."

"Hold on," said Chuck, "the elevator moves very quickly."

Chuck pressed a button on his computer and suddenly they were plummeting downwards, deep into the Fulcrum based.

The elevator stopped as rapidly as it had started and the two of them were left dazed for a second. Fortunately, they still reacted more quickly than the two guards who were swiftly stunned with a pair of Chuck's tranquilisers.

"Let's go," the Chuck, "the main elevator is this way."

They walked quickly down the brightly lit corridor, Sarah with her gun out and alert, and Chuck checking the cameras on his wrist computer.

"Two more round this next corner," advised Chuck quietly, "about 2 meters away."

He lifted his tranq gun, getting ready to shoot them but Sarah put her hand on his and pushed it down again.

"We're going to need all the tranquilisers we have," she whispered. Chuck smiled and they both put away their weapons. They reached the guards before they even knew what was going on. Sarah kneed one in the stomach and the elbowed him in the face as he doubled over, knocking him clean out while Chuck swept the legs from under the other one. He picked up the guard's own gun and hit him in the temple with it.

"The elevator is just up ahead," said Chuck, "it can take us directly to level five. There's a large number of guards in the area next to the elevator and they are going to know that we're coming. There is a schedule for the lift and we're not on it. Any unscheduled activations results in an immediate armed response."

"Can't you just add a new entry to the schedule?" asked Sarah, looking at Chuck's computer.

"It's a paper schedule. The ultimate defence from hackers like me."

"Okay, so we get in the lift but exit through the roof hatch into the shaft," Sarah said, planning their method of attack.

"I can send them a message saying that the empty lift was a malfunction and leave it there," added Chuck, moving slightly towards Sarah. He didn't even notice he did it.

"Then we wait a suitable length of time for the guards to become relaxed with the lift's presence ," agreed Sarah as she responded by closing the gap between them.

"And then we attack when their guard is down," finished Chuck. They were standing so close now that Chuck grabbed her and pulled her close.

"Kiss for good luck?" breathed Sarah.

The two agents quickly regained their composure and put their plan into action. They quickly entered the lift and got to work on the roof panel. It wasn't easy to open it but Walker had a hairclip that seemed to double as a small crowbar that made short work of it. Chuck pressed the button for level five and they slipped through the opening into the lift shaft, closing it behind them. The lift started to move downwards and they held on to each other and onto the elevator. It hadn't even reached full speed before Sarah started to notice that something was wrong. She couldn't quite pinpoint it but something in her subconscious was screaming at her. What was it? She looked over at Chuck and noticed that he was looking at her with a concerned look. She watched as Chuck shouted something at her but she couldn't hear it over the roaring of the wind. All of a sudden Chuck collapsed into a heap. Sarah tried to yell his name but for some reason she couldn't speak. She couldn't even move. She slipped out of consciousness still trying to help Chuck.

-000-

"You know," the Fulcrum leader said, almost as if he were having a friendly chat, "I had to use a lot of sedative to knock you two out."

Chuck blinked, trying to clear the fog from the edges of his vision.

"Filling an entire lift shaft with airborne sedative costs a lot of money," he continued, "not that it matters. You two were definitely worth every penny."

Chuck glanced around the room. He was tied to a chair with a long piece of rope. There was no way he could get out of this situation.

"So why haven't you killed us then?" Chuck heard Sarah ask. She was somewhere outside of his vision, to his left.

The Fulcrum director chuckled. "To make you watch of course."

"In a matter of moments I am going to kill the president of the United States of America. Of course, the blame will lie directly with a group of terrorists and the NSA. Fulcrum will take over all clandestine operations in the US and the new president will grant us unlimited access to bring the terrorists to justice. And there will be nothing you can do to stop it."

"Sadistic bastard," croaked Chuck. Speaking really hurt so he spat at the evil man in front of him.

"Fine then," said the Fulcrum director, "let's get started."

He turned round to the computer screen and pressed a few buttons. A video feed of what appeared to be the oval office appeared on the screen. The president was sitting at the desk signing some papers. The director then picked up a device about the size of a rifle. It looked futuristic and was emitting a low pitched noise; no doubt it was the Norseman.

"Goodbye, Mr President," the director said for dramatic effect, and pressed a button on the device.

The sound being emitted changed subtly but other than that nothing happened. A look of confusion creased the director's brow and he pressed the button again.

"A slight hiccup?" asked Chuck. He sounded more confident now.

"What have you done?" demanded the director.

Chuck smiled with his mouth and although it didn't reach his eyes he appeared satisfied.

"I haven't done anything," said Chuck, "but then again, I was only the decoy."

The director's face went the colour of ash.

"You see," explained Chuck, "your friend Laszlo is really my friend Laszlo. The Norseman he built you is a dummy; it doesn't work."

"How?" asked the bewildered director.

-000-

_Laszlo stared at the piece of folded napkin in his hands for a moment before the meaning of the words hit him. "In ten seconds, duck under the table." How long had it already been? Three seconds? Laszlo started counting down from the number seven._

"_I need to go to the little boy's room," Chuck said loudly, "I'll see you in a second."_

_Chuck got up and, right on time, Laszlo ducked underneath the table. He couldn't see anything, but the noise coming from the next table sounded like Chuck was getting beaten up. Not wanting to know what was going on Laszlo focused down at the ground, but something caught his eye. The napkin that Chuck had handed him had writing on the other side. He flipped it over and started reading Chuck's extremely small handwriting._

"_Laszlo, I know that Fulcrum reached you before I did. I don't know what you were told but I suspect that it doesn't bother you that they are essentially a terrorist organization. I understand you, I understand that you are after one thing only, a challenge. And trust me, I can provide you with a greater challenge than they ever will. Fulcrum are going to ask you to build them a weapon called the Norseman. I do not believe that you will have much trouble refining the designs they give you and I suspect you will become bored very quickly. Therefore, I have a greater challenge for you. You have to build them a Norseman that doesn't function. You will be asked to test it and prove that it works but you must find a way of tricking them. A much more interesting challenge, no?_

_p.s. wrapped in this napkin is a specially designed bullet. Shoot me with it and I will appear to be dead to the Fulcrum agents. You'll need to get them to leave quickly because the fake blood evaporates in a matter of minutes._

_Agent Carmichael"_

_Laszlo stared at the napkin. He had speed read the letter in no more than a few seconds. This Carmichael appeared to know exactly how Laszlo's mind work and he was right, working for Carmichael would be much more entertaining than working for Fulcrum._

"_Holy shit!" exclaimed Laszlo, as he pulled out his gun, loaded with the special bullet, "you just took out a whole bunch of Fulcrum agents!"_

_-000-_

"And that is why the Norseman doesn't work," finished Chuck.

"It doesn't matter," the director retorted with a snarl, "we still control the CIA and have the prototype designs for the Norseman."

"Do you?" asked Sarah.

"If you control the CIA why is there a taskforce on its way here to arrest everyone?" asked Chuck.

"We rescued the director of the CIA's children from your safe house. He is no longer your pawn," explained Sarah.

As if on cue, an alarm sounded in the corridor. The Fulcrum director's eyes went wide and he spluttered slightly. Sarah took that as her signal to attack. She rose out of her chair and roundhouse kicked the director in the head. He crashed to the floor.

"You should learn to tie your ropes better, director," she informed his out cold body.

-000-

Several hours later.

Chuck looked at the courtyard around them. For the first time in a long time he saw not a base of operations but his home. He glanced sideways at his partner and smiled. Her eyes darted away; she had been looking at him. Her hair was dishevelled and her makeup was long gone but she was by far the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. By some sort of mutual agreement they seemed to come to a stop between the fountain and the doorway.

"I can't believe that it's over," said Chuck.

-000-

"Look it's them," whispered Ellie. She was peering through the front window of the apartment at Chuck and Sarah. She knew that she shouldn't really be watching the two of them but she couldn't help herself. Devon crept up beside her and joined in with her spying.

"Oh Devon look at them," whispered Chuck's sister, "They look so in love."

The two agents were standing so close now but they were still talking. Chuck said something and Sarah appeared to agree, smiling shyly. Finally they kissed.

"Awesome," said Devon.

"About time," grunted Casey.

**That's all Folks. I shall write another one at some point. I have learned a lot in writing this one so hopefully my next one will be improved.**

**I hope you didn't find the ending too deux ex machina **


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